If I Have Freedom
by Jedi Sapphire
Summary: Sam's not been scratching the wall. Dean's been the Awesome Big Brother. But when the good guys need information, Sam will have to put his sanity on the line. In the aftermath, Dean will have to be the big brother in more ways than one. Spoilers to 6.11.
1. The Undiscovered Country

**Author's Note: **As soon as I saw _Appointment in Samarra_, I just had to do this. Because we all know that wall isn't staying up. It's all written, and I'll try to keep the updates quick, because I may get a bit busy towards the end of January and I don't want to leave too much unfinished at that point.

As always, my thanks to Cheryl for reading the first draft of this and for all her encouragement and suggestions.

**Disclaimer:** Nothing's mine.

**Spoilers:** Up to 6.11, _Appointment in Samarra_.

**Warnings:** Language – nothing worse than what's on the show – and a bit of blood in later chapters.

**Summary:** Sam's been careful about not scratching the wall and Dean's been the Awesome Big Brother helping him deal with reconnecting to the world. But when the good guys need information that they can only get from Sam's memories of the Cage, Sam will have to put his sanity on the line. In the aftermath, the only way for Sam to hold himself together will be for Dean to be the big brother in more ways than one.

* * *

**If I Have Freedom**

_Stone walls do not a prison make,  
Nor iron bars a cage;  
Minds innocent and quiet take  
That for a hermitage;  
If I have freedom in my love,  
And in my soul am free,  
Angels alone that soar above  
Enjoy such liberty.  
(Richard Lovelace)_

_

* * *

_

**Chapter I: The Undiscovered Country**

There were still days when Dean couldn't believe it. Sometimes he'd wake up dead certain it had all been a dream and he was going to find either Lisa next to him or an empty bed and the body that wasn't _Sammy_ sitting by the window playing with his laptop. He didn't know which would be worse.

Neither had happened yet.

Sure, he'd woken up once to find Sammy in tears over some mother of three whom he'd apparently had to kill in _that _year because she was possessed, and another time to have Sammy turn to him and say in that tortured voice Dean hated, "How can you even stand to look at me?"

But while that sucked, it was also _Sam_, and Dean knew how to deal with Sam. They'd wound up having a few chick-flick moments, he'd done what big brothers do best, and Sam wasn't even having nightmares. When he'd realized Sam's soul was still in the Cage and had started the quest to retrieve it, nightmares had been the least of the things he'd been prepared for: it had been a question of _Sam_, and Dean had been ready for _anything_.

So to have Sam _here_, aware enough to know him and lucid enough to angst at him, was more than he'd dared hope for and he was beyond grateful for it.

Dean put down his empty beer bottle and glanced at Sam, who was buried in a book. Dean was pretty sure he knew which one it was: Sam had gone through Bobby's shelves, visited libraries, trawled the Web, and he always came back to the same thing: Dante. _Purgatorio._

Sam had at least four translations of it, and he'd read all of them so many times that Dean wondered why he even bothered anymore – he had to know them off by heart by now.

"Come on, Sammy," Dean said. "Bed."

"I'm not sleepy."

"Of course you are. Dude, I _know _you. Any minute now you're going to rub your eyes and try not to yawn, because you _still_ seem to think you can get stuff past me, and then I'm going to haul your sorry ass to bed by force. Save us both a lot of trouble if you just do it voluntarily." The look Sam gave him was three parts bitchface and one part… something else. "Everything OK, Sam?"

"I'm fine, Dean."

"I'm not an idiot, Sam."

Sam looked at Dean, eyebrows raised sceptically, and Dean didn't know whether to laugh or hit him. He settled for the best of both worlds, grinning at his brother as he swatted him upside the head.

"OK, how about this?" Dean told him. "Either you go to bed, or you tell me what's bothering you. Your choice."

"Nothing's bothering me."

"Right. Bed it is, then."

"_Dean._"

"Hey, I just call 'em as I see 'em." Sam's direct gaze faltered a little. "Come _on_, Sam. What're you worried about? I promise I won't go ballistic on your ass no matter what you've done _this_ time." Something shifted in Sam's eyes, and Dean gave himself a mental right hook and said quickly, "Kidding. Well, not about the other thing – you want to stay up, you talk to me. You don't want to talk, you go to bed. You sitting up all night brooding is _not _something that's going to happen."

Sam shook his head. "Dean, you don't get it – I _have _to keep looking. There has to be another way to get to it."

"Purgatory? Give it a rest, Sam. It's –" Dean broke off when he realized what his brother had just said. "Wait, _another _way? You mean you already found a way?" Sam's eyes flickered from the book to Dean guiltily. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I… I was scared," Sam whispered, sounding ashamed.

_Well. _That was new. Not surprising, Dean supposed, because he of all people knew Hell could give you some weird phobias – he had just been kind of hoping that with the whole memory-wall-dam thing, Sam would be spared those.

"That's OK," he said, keeping his voice light. No sense in letting the kid think Dean was annoyed with him. "We don't have to do anything about it if it's something that freaks you out. Just tell me what it is, we can tell Cas, and… That's it. We back off. The angel brigade can take it from there."

"We can't… _I _can't."

Dean sat in the chair across from Sam and poured himself coffee from the pot. He held the pot out of the way when Sam reached for it. "No way. The last thing you need right now is caffeine. Just tell me and go to sleep."

"I thought it was tell you _or _go to sleep."

"Times change, rules change."

"It's been about two minutes!"

"Keep wasting time and I'll make you talk to me _while_ you're tucked up in bed. Just tell me, Sam. Why's it bothering you so much?"

Sam sighed, glowered, sighed again, flipped a few pages of his book, glowered some more, and finally said, "Dante… I think he had the answer, I mean I think he _knew_. I doubt he actually went into Hell and Purgatory and Paradise the way he claims, but I'm guessing he had firsthand information from somewhere."

"OK… So?"

"So… Dante says Purgatory was created by the impact of Satan's fall… and it's diametrically opposite the entrance to Hell."

"Sam, the gates open anywhere."

"No, he means the original Hell, where Satan fell. He says it was Jerusalem, so _his _Purgatory is in the southern hemisphere, but I don't think it's really a _physical_ place. It's more the… the _concept_. But the thing is… Dante says he went to Purgatory after descending to the lowest level of Hell."

Oh.

_Oh._

No _wonder_ Sam had been so freaked out.

"So you think the way to Purgatory is through the _Cage_?"

"I think that's one way. There might be others, but if there are I haven't found them."

"Does he say _how _to get there?"

"Not really… Nothing useful."

"So… How do we find out?"

"I think…" Sam looked down, chewed at his lip a little, and looked back up at Dean. "I think… I might know."

Dean rolled his eyes to hide the surge of pride he felt. Trust Sammy to have figured it out.

"Well?" he asked. "How?" Sam just looked at him, and, with a sinking feeling in his gut, he _finally_ understood what his little brother meant. "No. No _way_, Sammy. You're not – we're not – _no_."

"I don't want to," Sam admitted, sounding about four. "But, Dean… What if there's no other way to find out?"

"Then we'll _make _a way."

"But –"

"_No._" Sam flinched, and Dean softened his tone. "_No_, Sam. I promised I'd take care of everything, remember? I promised I'd make sure having your soul back didn't destroy you. You are not going to have those memories put back. You just – just get some rest. Leave this to me. We will figure something out. There has to be another way. Come on, Sammy."

Dean got up and pulled Sam to his feet, marvelling again at the fact that Sam came up unresisting. The old Sam – well, not the old Sam, but the Sam he'd had in between – would have made sure Dean felt every last ounce of those two hundred and twenty pounds of muscle if he'd tried to force him to bed.

"Come on, Sammy," he said again.

"_Dean._"

There it was. _This_ was why he'd needed his Sammy back. Nobody else could say his name in quite that way, that way that said Sam trusted him and Dean was the best big brother in the world. It made him feel like he could do anything, not because _he_ could, but because Sammy expected him to and he wasn't going to see Sammy disappointed.

"Yeah, I've got it." He lowered Sam to his bed. "I'll take care of it, Sam."

Even as he said it, he knew it wasn't going to be that easy. There was just no way the universe was going to pass up _another_ opportunity to screw the Winchesters.

* * *

"Dean, maybe we should think about this before we dismiss it out of hand."

Dean stared at Castiel, not sure if he had heard right.

"_What?_"

Cas glanced from him to Sam, who was suddenly watching Dean with eyes like saucers and _damn it_ how could the kid rip his heart out of his chest just by _looking_?

"Cas," Dean growled, trying to keep his voice too low for Sam to hear but not really believing it would work, "_No_. Look, the only reason I told you was so that you could say it's a stupid idea and we'd think of something else and Sam would stop agonizing over it."

"I agree it's not the best plan," Cas said, not bothering to speak softly. "Unfortunately, it's the only plan we have."

"Not helping, Cas."

"Dean, I'm sorry, but this is war. We're trying to stop the Apocalypse."

"Sam jumped into Lucifer's Cage to stop the Apocalypse the first time around! Now you expect him to sacrifice his sanity just because all you feathery idiots can't figure out how to get to Purgatory on your own? Not happening, Cas. Find somebody else."

"Isn't that Sam's decision?"

"When it's a question of Sam's health and safety, it's my decision."

"Dean," Sam cut in. "It's OK."

"What? _No! _Don't be an idiot." Dean directed a glare at Sam before turning back to Cas. "There, you see? Now you've got him back in that self-sacrificing hero mindset. That's exactly the kind of crap we _don't_ need right now! Find another way, Cas. Purgatory leads up to Heaven, doesn't it? So there has to be a way to get there from Heaven."

"Maybe, but I don't know how that works, Dean."

"Then _find_ the people who know."

"That would be Lucifer and Michael."

"Good. There you have it. Go down and ask them."

"They won't be willing to help."

"Tough."

"Dean, I know this is difficult. I don't want Sam to lose his mind –"

"Really? Because you sound pretty willing to let that happen."

"I have no choice, Dean! We're at war."

"We've already sacrificed enough for your war! _Sam's_ already sacrificed enough."

"Dean, Raphael wants something that's in Purgatory. We don't know what it is. We don't know why he wants it. But we _do _know that if we don't get there before he does, he's going to bring about the Apocalypse. Do you want Sam's sacrifice to be useless?"

"You can't force Sammy to –"

"I'm not talking about forcing Sam. I'm talking about _asking_ him."

"You know," Sam said unexpectedly from behind Dean, "I'm still _here_."

"Don't worry, Sammy," Dean said promptly, turning to his little brother. "I'm taking care of this. Cas is just being a dick. You let me deal with this, OK? I am not going to let him do anything to you."

"Sam," Cas said, coming up next to Dean, "I'm sorry. I really don't like to ask you to do this. If you do, I promise I will do everything in my power to help you –"

"You said you wouldn't know where to start," Dean said coldly, smothering a smile at Sam's raised eyebrow. "What, Sammy, you think you're the only lawyer in town? Cas, _you _said you wouldn't know where to start. Now you're telling me you'll be able to fix Sam –"

"No, I'm saying I will _try _to help him."

"That's not good enough."

"It's good enough for me," Sam said quietly.

Dean stared at him, mouth working noiselessly for several moments before he found his voice.

"Sammy, you've got no idea what you're talking about."

"Yes, I do. Cas, can you give us a minute?" The angel vanished, and Sam stood up to face Dean directly. "Look, I may not remember anything that happened in the Cage, but I remember what happened before. I remember saying yes and having Lucifer in me. I remember jumping. Dean, I was prepared to stay down there forever. I knew you wouldn't just let it go, no matter what you promised, but I didn't think you'd ever find a way. I was… I was ready for that, Dean."

Dean felt his throat getting tight. "Sammy –"

"Let me finish. You brought me back, and _thank you_, and this is more than I'd ever hoped I could have. It's certainly more than I deserve –"

"_Sam._"

"OK, we'll debate that later. The point is, I didn't think I'd ever be here again, with _you_, notbeing tortured. I _know_ it'll be difficult to have those memories back – I can sense that, even without remembering anything. But being up here remembering what Michael and Lucifer did to me will still be way better than being down there having them actually doing it. It's a small price to pay."

"Sam."

"_Please._"

Dean sighed. In the year and a half he'd been apart from _his _Sammy, he'd forgotten how easily the kid could wrap him round his little finger. And Sam seemed even _better_ at it now – or maybe Dean had gone soft. One way or another, Sam hardly even had to use the eyes anymore.

"Fine," Dean said. Before Sam could say anything else, he added, "One condition. If we do this, we do it my way. I stay in the room while Cas does it and I call the shots on what he's doing, when he starts, when he stops, everything."

Sam huffed out a breath. "I would've done that anyway, Dean. I'm not an _idiot_."

"Had _me _fooled."

Dean clapped a hand on Sam's shoulder, looking him in the eye. _I promise I'll make sure you come through this OK. _Sam smiled at him, a shy half-smile that did more than even the puppy-dog eyes to wring Dean's heart. _I know you will.

* * *

_

What do you think? Good? Bad? Too terrible for words? Please review!


	2. Taste Not the Pierian Spring

**Disclaimer: **Halfway through Season Six and no critically injured Sam… So, no, I don't own anything.

Thanks to Cheryl for her _very _helpful comments.

A very big thank-you to my wonderful reviewers: cold kagome, tina, supercharmed89, Heidi, Klutzygirl33, Darknight Owl, supernaturaldh, Kailene, CandyCakes, cookjar, Twinchester Angel, jensengirl4eva, JustShyOfMe, Menthol Pixie, RiverofWind, TL Arens, Cainchan, SandyDee84, MysteryMadchen and WinchesterHaunt.

And here we go…

* * *

**Chapter II: Taste Not the Pierian Spring**

"I would be obliged," Bobby's voice said in Dean's ear, "if you two would just let me know when you're done trying to kill me. So, you know, I can throw a party. Could even ask that nice woman next door if she'll make pie."

"The one that you freaked out by putting a woman through her wood-chipper?"

"It wasn't a _woman_, it was –"

"Bobby."

"Yeah. Sorry. Focus. Dean, this is a stupid idea."

"I know it's a stupid idea, but you know Sam when he gets all noble and unselfish. It's like arguing with a brick wall. Since I can't stop him, I'm going to make sure this is done right and with minimal damage to Sam. So can we come to your place?"

"Where else would you go?" Bobby grumbled. "Get your asses down here."

* * *

"Panic room?" Sam's voice held the first hint of uncertainty Dean had heard in it all day.

"Just in case, Sammy. Not going to put you in lockdown or anything. It's just a precaution, and we might not even need it, but better safe than sorry, right?"

"Yeah… Yeah, I'm sorry. Let's go."

Dean stayed half a step behind Sam all the way down the stairs. Every instinct was warning him against this, something in his head was muttering about how it was eight kinds of stupid and they had to stop before it went to eight kinds of hell, but…

This was _Sam_. If Dean had really believed there would be irreparable damage to his brother, he would never have allowed it, Apocalypse or not. But he knew his Sammy like nobody else did, not Bobby, not Cas, not Crowley or Death. Sammy was a lot stronger than anyone gave him credit for, especially when he had Dean at his back. If anyone could survive the restoration of nearly two hundred years' worth of memories of endless torture, it was Dean's little brother.

Sam hesitated in the doorway to the panic room.

"Go on," Dean said. _Go on, I'm right behind you._

Sam went. Dean followed, stopping just short of the Devil's Trap. It took everything he had to stand there while Sam sat on the cot, trying to look like he wasn't scared and _almost _making it.

Bobby stepped in with a pair of cuffs, Sam flinched at the sight of them.

"He's not detoxing or soulless," Dean pointed out, fighting to stand still. "He doesn't need them."

"When those memories come flooding back, he might start thrashing about and hurt _himself_."

Sam's eyes met his, wide and scared and pleading. Dean lost the fight.

"That's OK. I'll take care of it." He pushed past Bobby to sit on the cot behind Sam. "The things I have to do for you! You owe me for this one, Sammy." He grabbed Sam under the arms and pulled him back.

"_Dude!_" Sam pulled away, going scarlet. "You're not going to –"

"Yeah, I am, because Bobby's right. We don't know what effect this is going to have and we can't have you flailing and knocking yourself out. It's this or the cuffs, Sam."

"But –"

"_Sam._"

Sam glared at him half-heartedly. Dean glared back, hoping this wasn't going to turn into a standoff. He couldn't put Sam in those cuffs, not when Sam had given him that _look_ and the cuffs meant demon blood and the Sam who wasn't Sam and screaming and hallucinations and –

Sam looked down. Dean let out a sigh of relief. He hadn't been sure if Sam would give in: the kid could be stubborn as hell.

"Come on, Sammy."

He took hold of Sam's arms and pulled him back again. Sam didn't protest this time, settling back against Dean's chest. Dean held him, trapping him so that his arms were immobile but keeping his grip gentle.

"Ready?" Dean asked. Sam nodded. "Cas! Get down here."

Cas had been waiting just outside the door. He came in and walked carefully around the Devil's Trap before stepping into it.

"What, you don't trust us?" Dean asked.

"It's _Sam _and you seem to think I'm out to do him some form of injury. Of course I don't trust you."

"Fair enough. Get on with it."

Cas sat on the edge of the mattress.

"Sam, I'm going to start now. I'm going to reach into your mind. You – well, it'll be a little like it was when Lucifer was in your head. But it's just me. Don't get alarmed and don't react." At Dean's raised eyebrow, Cas added, "He trapped Lucifer and _held _him long enough to open the Cage, have an argument with Michael and _then_ jump in."

Sam grinned. "Don't worry. Dean won't be helping me this time."

"I wouldn't count on that. When you were packing this morning he took me aside and said that if this went – _sideways_, I believe, was the word he used – he would pull out all my feathers and make me eat them."

"Just get on with it," Dean snapped.

Cas shrugged. "You _did _say it. Sam, the memories will come back slowly, and it will be some time before they become overwhelming. Just focus on me and what I'm saying and I should be able to guide the way they come enough that you can tell me what you know about Purgatory before… Well, before anything can go wrong."

"_Cas._" Dean's voice was a dangerous growl.

"Dean," Sam said mildly. Then, to Cas, "OK, don't react when you're in my head. Got it. Now can we just get this over with so Dean can stop trying to crack my ribs?" Dean responded with a hard, quick jerk that really did take Sam's breath away for a second, although he immediately felt guilty and rubbed Sam's ribs in silent apology. Sam patted his hand. "Cas?"

Cas rested his right hand on Sam's head. For a minute nothing happened. Then Sam stiffened.

"Cas?" Dean asked.

"He's just getting used to it. It can take several seconds – maybe less in Sam's case because he's had an Archangel in his head already."

Sam shifted, trying to push himself closer to Dean.

"_Cas?_"

"Calm down, Dean. This is normal."

Sam made a sound halfway between a whimper and a sob.

"_CAS!_"

"The more you keep interrupting me, the longer this will take, Dean. Just let me talk to Sam. Sam?"

"Y-yeah."

"Can you feel me in your head?"

"Yeah." It was a pained whisper, and it made Dean tighten his arms.

"You have to help me now. I'm going to start bringing the wall down, and you have to help me make sure that it's the right memories that come back first. Try to think about Purgatory – not as an intellectual concept, but how it makes you feel. You don't have to say anything. Just think about it."

Sam shut his eyes.

Minutes ticked by in total silence. Dean exchanged a glance with Bobby, neither of them knowing more than what they could read from Sam's tight jaw and Cas's frown of concentration.

"Sam." When Cas spoke, it startled both Dean and Bobby, making Bobby jump and get a hand on his shotgun and Dean pull Sam protectively closer. Cas looked a little exasperated, shook his head, and turned to Sam, who now had his eyes open and on the angel. "Answer my questions, Sam," Cas said. "_Quickly_ – I'm holding back the rest of the memories, but I can't do it for long. We won't have much time." Sam nodded. "To begin with, how do you know how to get to Purgatory?"

"Michael," Sam said softly, words rasping out. "Michael told me."

"Why?"

"Wanted me to try… Fun for him. He knew… Knew I wouldn't be… able…"

"How do you get to Purgatory?"

"From… _there_."

"Yes, I know you get there from the Cage, but _how_, Sam?"

"Have to go down… _deeper_. Much deeper."

"Deeper into Hell? The Cage is the very bottom of it."

"Yeah. Like… I don't know… Bending space-time? _You_ should know… Hell and Heaven… Same thing. Opposite sides. Get to the end of Hell… You get to Heaven from the other direction."

"That's Purgatory?"

"Purgatory."

"So… you just go deeper and you're there?"

"No. Barrier."

"Barrier?"

"Lethe."

"_Lethe?_ You mean one of the five rivers of Hades? The River of Unmindfulness? Sam, that's just a legend."

"_Dante's_ Lethe… Guilt. Only… Don't think it's really a river. More like a… a barrier."

"And you crossed it?"

"I couldn't."

"Why not?"

"Didn't… didn't deserve it."

For some reason that made Dean rub Sam's ribs again, soothingly. He didn't know what the hell was going on but he didn't like it. Sam was trembling, rasping out words as though each one physically pained him. One minute. Just one more minute and he was going to pull the plug on this.

"Why didn't you deserve it, Sam?"

"_Cas_," Dean snarled.

The angel ignored him. "Sam? Why didn't you deserve it?"

"Hell's… Hell's for the damned… Purgatory… for people who can be… forgiven."

Dean felt something inside him go cold. Sam – Sam thought –

_Right. That's it._

"Cas –"

"Let me finish, Dean. We don't have more than two minutes now. Sam, what do you mean? You can only cross the barrier if you deserve forgiveness for your sins?"

"If… if you _think_ you do."

"And you thought you _didn't_?" Dean asked, unable to stay quiet at that.

"_Knew_ I didn't."

A sharp glance from Cas cut off whatever Dean had been planning to say. He rested his cheek on the top of Sam's head – hey, it had comforted the kid when he'd _been _a kid – and tightened his hold as much as he could without actually cutting off Sam's air supply.

"So… that's it? You just go there and cross the barrier?"

Sam smiled. "Not… not as easy… as it sounds. Tried… Tried a _lot_… They thought it was _fun_. To watch."

"And this barrier is _in _the Cage?"

"On the other side."

"So you have to go through the Cage?"

"Yeah."

"It's that easy to get out of the Cage?"

Sam shrugged. "On that side… Nowhere to go… Unless you cross the barrier… Lethe. Can't… Can't get back _up_ without… doing that."

The last word broke off in a harsh sob.

"Sam?" Cas said. "Sam, can you tell me –"

"No, he can't," Dean snapped. "That's it. You're done. Question time's over. Easy, Sammy. I've got you. You're going to be fine. Cas, can you help him?"

"Right now, no. The memories have to come back. It'll take some time. If I try to patch the wall up now it won't hold and it'll just be worse when it finally happens. Once they're back, I'll see what I can do. In the meantime I'll see if I can follow Sam's directions to Purgatory."

Dean stared. Sam was starting to shake in the way that meant he was inches away from crying.

"You're just leaving him like this and running off to chase Purgatory?"

"I can't help him now, Dean. I can't help anybody by sitting here and watching his memories come back. I will return and I will do what I can for Sam. I'll ask around. Someone else might know more about how to deal with his condition."

"You're _joking_, right?"

"Dean, listen to me. We _will _find a way to help him. I just need time. All right?"

"Yeah, well, you listen to me, Cas. You'd _better _find a way to help him, because if you don't, I will hunt you down, and I will –"

"I know. Pull off all my feathers and –"

"_Cas._"

"Fine. I understand, Dean."

Then Cas was gone. Dean would have cursed, but there wasn't time, not with Sam quivering like that and –

Sam screamed.

_Oh God. OhGodohGodohGod._

"Dean?" Bobby asked. "Do you need me to…" He raised the handcuffs that he was still holding.

"_No._" Dean had made a promise, and he was going to keep it. He was going to take care of Sam and those _things_ were not going on his brother again. "No, just… Shhh, Sammy… Just give us some time. Don't think he's going to know if you're here or not for a while."

Bobby nodded, understanding. "Yell if you need me."

As soon as he'd gone, Dean, pulled Sam around to hold him more comfortably.

"Freaking Sasquatch. You have _got _to lay off the doughnuts, dude."

"_No_," Sam choked. "No, _please_."

"Hey, I was just kidding. What happened to your sense of humour?" Dean said, desperation edging his voice because he _knew _that Sam wasn't upset about the doughnut crack.

He had his confirmation a second later.

"No, I'm sorry, please… Please don't, not that… _Please._"

Sammy was reliving his Hell as nearly two centuries' worth of memories poured into his mind, and Dean felt his gut clench as though he were down there watching it.

"I've got you, Sammy. I'm here." It was useless, but Dean said it anyway.

Sam screamed, and this one was pain, not fear.

_Should it bother me that I can tell the difference?_

But the answer to that didn't matter, nothing mattered except that Sam was screaming as though he were being – _no, don't_ _go there_ – Sammy was screaming, and there was nothing Dean could do but hold him and try to rock him through the quivering and whisper pointless words of comfort.

The scream died out into hoarse sobbing, but this time there were words in it.

"Dean… _Dean._"

"I'm here."

"Dean, _please_. I'm sorry… _Please._"

"Please what, Sam?"

"_Please._"

"Sammy, you can have anything you want, kiddo, but you have to tell me _what_."

"Please don't – I'm sorry – I won't. I promise. Please… _please_."

And Dean felt his heart go down to his stomach, because it figured – of _course_ it damn well figured – that Lucifer and Michael would use his form to torture Sam. What better way to torment him than that?

The screaming started again, this time with "Dean" and "please" mixed in.

Dean swallowed, blinked rapidly, and grabbed Sam's arms to keep him still. "Shhh, Sammy, it's not real." The screams built in intensity. Dean pulled Sam in closer, tighter, but he knew that not even he could keep Sam safe from his own memories. "It's OK, Sammy. I'm here." The screaming died to agonized sobs and pitiful whimpers that tore at Dean's heart. "I've got you, Sammy. You're safe."

"Dean?" Sam was looking up at him – at _him_, not at Michael or Lucifer wearing his face to torture Sam.

"Yeah, Sammy. I've got you. You're OK."

"_Dean. _You're real." Sam sounded like a kid on Christmas morning. "You're –"

He broke off into another scream.

* * *

It lasted for what seemed like _days_, although his wristwatch told him it was barely an hour and a half – _damn thing's probably broken_ – and Dean could do nothing but hold Sam, reassure him in the few lucid moments he had and whisper to him through the sobs and the screaming, hoping desperately that _something_ was getting through.

An hour and a half, and Sam's sobs began to weaken, no longer building up into screams. Dean wasn't fooled: it was exhaustion, not an improvement in Sam's mental state.

But at this point he was willing to take anything he could get. When Sam finally slumped in his arms, no longer writhing and yelling, now just whimpering weakly as near-noiseless tears soaked Dean's shirt, Dean let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding.

"OK, Sammy, how about you try and get some sleep now, and let your big brother sleep, too?"

Sam didn't respond. Dean hadn't been expecting a reply. He changed his grip, supporting Sam's head with one hand and rubbing his back with the other the way he'd done when Sam had been a baby. Sam relaxed at his touch, going quiet, the trembling gradually stopping and his harsh, quick breaths getting slower and more even.

"That's it, Sammy," Dean soothed. A shadow fell across the floor. He glanced up, saw Bobby, spared him a wry grin and returned his attention to Sam. "That's it, just sleep now. I'm right here, OK? Not going anywhere. I'm going to be right here when you wake up."

When he sensed Sam _finally_ fall asleep, Dean slid off the bed and lowered him carefully to it. Sam stirred, but settled down again when Dean rubbed his head.

"He better?" Bobby asked softly.

"No. Just worn himself out."

"You want to go stretch your legs? I can sit with him for a bit."

"No." Dean looked at Sam. His little brother was sleeping, too wrung out even to dream – which, considering that this was Sam, was the best thing _ever_. He sat on the edge of the bed, where Cas had been sitting earlier. "Thanks, Bobby, but I'm good right here."

* * *

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	3. The Gifts which I Bestow

**Disclaimer: **Not mine. Unfortunately.

All my gratitude to Cheryl for helping me do some major fixing on this chapter.

Thanks to Klutzygirl33, Arilaen, cookjar, WinchesterHaunt, NAVILLUS, RiverofWind, Vanessa Sgroi, Winchesterlady, BranchSuper, PlotlineObsessed, MysteryMadchen, SandyDee84, Pendragon P a s s i o n, schildkroete, Cainchan, supercharmed89, Scribble2Much and crazybeagle for the wonderful reviews – you guys are the best!

And the craziness really begins in this chapter… I hope you enjoy it! The next update should be on Monday, hopefully.

Happy New Year, everyone! Here's to a brilliant _Supernatural_ S6 second half!

**

* * *

Chapter III: The Gifts which I Bestow**

Sam stirred and promptly cringed away from wakefulness. He knew instinctively that awareness would bring fire and blood and pain and –

"Hello, Sam."

_Oh._

No pain. That was odd.

Sam cracked opened his eyes, wondering if the memories would hit when he did. They didn't, so he opened his eyes the rest of the way.

The room was dark. He could see an indistinct figure sitting on the edge of the cot. For one wild moment he thought it was Dean – but it was too short, its hair was too long, and… it just _wasn't_.

That was when Sam realized there was something heavy across his chest. He glanced to the side. Dean was there, fast asleep with one arm flung protectively over Sam.

"Dean?" Normally the slightest whisper from Sam would have been enough to wake Dean, and Sam did more than whisper, but his big brother slept on. Sam shook him. "_Dean! _Dean, wake up!"

"He's fine, Sam. I just wanted to talk to you."

Sam turned to the strange man. "Who _are _you?"

"After _all_ I've done to help you? I'm seriously considering being offended, Sam." There was suddenly a faint light in the room, coming from everywhere and nowhere. "_Well? _Even mortaleyes should be able to see by this."

"_Gabriel?_"

"Very good."

"You're _alive_?" Sam felt a memory stir, one he hadn't even known he had. A brief respite from pain. "You… You came to talk to me. In the Cage. Once."

"I'm surprised you remember that. You seemed… Out of it."

Sam shrugged. The weight of Dean's arm when he did made him _very_ conscious that he was in bed being _held _by his big brother and that Gabriel was smirking at the sight. He flushed and sat up quickly.

"What do you want? And how am I…?"

"In your right mind? Yes, that's my doing. I can keep you sane – for a while, anyway. As long as I need to talk to you. After that, I'm afraid you're on your own."

"How are you doing this? Even _Death _couldn't fix it so that I could remember _and _be sane."

"Always with the questions, Sam. Death might be stronger than I am, but I know much more about people. All he does with human souls is answer their existential doubts and then send them on their way with one of his Reapers. He has no idea how human minds function."

"Oh, come on," Sam groaned. "Not _you _poking around in my head, too!"

"What, Death and Castiel and dear Lucifer can but I can't? Go on like this and I _will _be offended, Sam, and then I won't help you. You don't want that."

"I'm sorry. Why are you helping me, again?"

"I don't know. I've asked myself this, and the best answer I can come up with is that I just feel like it. I hope it's not permanent." He cocked his head and studied Sam. "I can still feel the remnants of that barrier Death put in your head. I'm surprised Dean wanted it. Castiel and Crowley fed him stories about what memories of the Cage would do to you, I know, but… I imagined he would know better."

"You think Cas and Crowley were wrong?"

"I think Castiel and Crowley have no idea how resilient the human soul can be. Even Death doesn't really know about that: he reaps them and then he's finished with them. But me, I've been involved with human beings since the very beginning. They're irritating, stupid and incredibly primitive, but they do have… spirit. After all, you're talking to me now."

"But that's just because you're… doing whatever."

"True, but it's more than Castiel and Crowley – and Balthazar and Death, for that matter – believed possible, isn't it?" Gabriel shifted, and Sam had an impression of shadowy wings. "I've had more experience, of course. Death always sees human souls at their most vulnerable, Castiel and Balthazar have spent most of their existence in Heaven, and Crowley is an idiot in any case. I've always been the one deputized to go and tell mortals when we're about to play dice with their lives. It's given me a unique perspective on the way humans function, and I have to say I'm impressed."

"So you think I'll be OK?"

"I think that's in your hands." Gabriel laid a hand on Sam's head for a moment, and Sam felt a sense of peace that he hadn't known for years. "Yes, that's nice, isn't it?" He lifted his hand, and the feeling was gone. "I could probably just do it _for _you… It's not easy to heal what's in your head right now, but it's not as difficult as Castiel thinks."

"But you won't."

"I knew they call you the smart one for a reason. No, I won't. I'm not here to give you the grand prize for being a good little boy and shoving Lucifer back where he belongs. You made your choice, you took what you wanted and you paid the price. Was it worth it, by the way? Throwing yourself into the Cage to save the world?"

Sam glanced at Dean, sleeping scrunched up on a cot that had barely been big enough for Sam alone.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "Yeah, it was worth it."

"Interesting. Anyway, there aren't prizes, Sam… Not prizes like _this_. I helped you _then_ because you were doing all you could, and you _needed _my help."

"So you're not going to help. Why are you here?"

"I didn't say I wouldn't help. I just said I wasn't going to make your problems disappear. My father is fairly sensible, you know, that way. He doesn't give people more to deal with than they can handle." Sam stared at him in disbelief. Gabriel rolled his eyes. "Spare me the sob story. I know. Mommy made a demon deal, then Azazel fed you his blood and Mommy died, Daddy lost what little there was of his mind and brought you up in the hunting life, then pretty Jessica died, then Daddy died, then _you _died, then you came back, then _Dean _died, then… I know the story, Sam, just as well as you do. I'm not saying it was all pleasant, but you're here, aren't you? Here and managing to conduct a reasonably sensible conversation. If you hadn't had the strength for it, there would have been _nothing _I could've done."

"So…"

"_So_, this."

Sam felt a jolt. The world dissolved into a blur of colours and shadows.

* * *

He resurfaced slowly, cautiously, afraid that _this _time the memories _would _overwhelm him.

They didn't.

Sam sucked in a long, careful breath and opened his eyes.

Gabriel was still there, but now something seemed… off. Gabriel was too big. Sam turned to Dean, to see if he was awake –

Dean was too big, too.

Or maybe nobody was too big.

"You _shrunk _me?" Sam demanded, horrified at how high and squeaky his voice sounded when he spoke.

"You should be grateful to me if I did, considering what a great ox you are, but no. I didn't _shrink_ you, I…" Gabriel paused and looked around. "No mirrors here? Well, I suppose I can fix _that_." The door to the panic room was suddenly bright and shining in the weird half-light. "_Up_, Sam!"

Gabriel grabbed him under the arms and Sam felt himself swept off his feet and carried to the door. It was humiliating being carted around like a sack of potatoes and Sam tried to kick but he couldn't reach, tried to wriggle out of Gabriel's grip but the angel ignored his efforts with embarrassing ease.

"You see?"

They were in front of the door now, and Sam looked at the reflection.

Gabriel was holding up a _child_, a child that Sam recognized from photographs and dim memories of other mirrors in motel rooms and broken-down old houses.

Oh God.

He was wearing just a ridiculously over-sized shirt. Sam recognized it as the one he'd put on that morning, and it had been right for him then, not hanging down to his ankles in loose folds like he was wearing a freaking toga. Fortunately it had short sleeves.

_Oh God._

"Come _on_," Sam protested. "Change me back! I'm no good to anyone like this."

"You're no good to anyone if you spend all day screaming and crying. This will help. Children are stronger than adults in some ways. You still have your own _mind_, of course, but… This should be enough."

"_Gabriel!_"

"Don't be so whiny, Sam… Or, I don't know, aren't children _supposed_ to be whiny? I can't imagine why you'd want to be your oversized self, but I'm not planning on leaving you like this. I'll turn you back when you're ready for it."

"I'm ready right now."

"No. You're not."

"Yes, I am."

"I can see this debate going on for some time. Shall we wake Dean up and ask him to settle it?" Without waiting for an answer, Gabriel carried Sam back to the bed, still holding him under the arms. "Dean!" Dean stirred and groaned. Gabriel rolled his eyes. "Just like your brother to waste time we don't have. _Dean!_"

Dean stirred again, stretched out a hand without really waking up, and patted the place where Sam had been lying earlier.

And then he was wide awake, sitting up with a barked, "Sammy!"

"Calm down, Dean," Gabriel said over Sam's head. "Precious little Sammy's right here."

Dean turned to them, and Sam saw his expression go from anger to disbelief and back.

"_Sammy?_"

"Yes," Gabriel said, lifting his arms higher as though holding Sam up for inspection. "Don't you recognize him?"

"_What did you do?_"

"I… I suppose you could say I de-aged him. And now we need you to settle an argument for us."

Dean's eyes closed in that way that said he was hoping the world would be back to normal when he opened them. When he _did _open them, he groaned.

"Don't you guys _ever_ let up? What the _hell _do you – you're holding him wrong."

"What?"

"You're _holding him wrong_," Dean said, sounding exasperated, as though this was something that should have been obvious to Gabriel. "Can't you tell he's uncomfortable?"

He reached out. Sam felt himself being lifted from Gabriel's hands. Then he was secure, Dean's arm supporting his head and back and the rough linen of Dean's shirt under his cheek. He found himself wrapping his arms around Dean's neck; instead of being shoved off, he was pulled closer. "Dude, you _so _owe me for this," Dean muttered.

His brother's attention returned to Gabriel. "Now will you _please _tell me what the hell you think you're doing?"

"It's simple, Dean. Children are more resilient than adults and I thought you would be pleased if I did what I could to help Sam recover a little mental equilibrium. Notice how he's not screaming. I'm helping him, of course, but a lot of it is coming from him."

"Dude, you lost me at 'equilibrium'. Is it still Sam in there?"

"Twenty-seven years of life, a hundred and eighty years of the Cage. That's your brother, just as he is now… Mentally, anyway."

"And he's… OK?"

"No, of course he's not OK. Haven't you been _listening_?Did you think I was just going to waltz in and solve all your problems? I'm – how do I put this? – I'm helping him hold on to the few shreds of sanity he has left. For now. Once I go, you'll have to figure something out."

"Is there any point if I ask what the hell?"

"You could ask and see."

"_Dude_," Dean growled in his _Don't-screw-around-when-Sammy's-involved_ voice. Gabriel looked as though he was impressed despite himself.

"Very well, Dean. I'm trying to help your brother. The least you can do is show some gratitude." He crossed his arms. "Sam needs to heal. He _can _heal; it's not impossible. He needs time and a little help. This is… Well, this is the best I can do for him – no, that's not true." Gabriel's smile flickered in Sam's direction. "This is the best I'm _going _to do for him, because I don't believe in giving you what is within your power to achieve. I'll check in with you in a few days, and if he's ready, I'll turn him back."

"How're you going to find us?"

"How do you think I found you now?"

"We're at _Bobby's_!"

"Well, then, I suppose I'll ask Bobby. I'm sure you won't try to hide from me when I'm the only one who can turn Sam back to himself."

"Wait, _what_?"

"Of course, if you're ready sooner, you can always call."

"Why are you doing this?"

"You know, you're very single-minded. Your brother's first question was, 'You're alive?'"

Sam felt Dean shrug, and he grinned, subconsciously snuggling closer. He flushed when he realized what he was doing, sure he'd get a crack about being a girl, but Dean only rubbed his back and murmured, "It's OK, Sammy. I've got this." He raised his voice again. "Sam _would_ wonder about that. Me, I figure that's the way it is. No point asking questions about it. Why are you helping us?"

"That's the way it is, Dean." Sam didn't have to see to know Dean was rolling his eyes. "Actually, Sam might be able to help you answer that, if he can sort through his memories of Hell neatly enough… So, what'll it be, Dean? If you don't trust me I can change Sam back right away."

"You really think this will help?"

"I know it will."

"What do you say, Sammy?" Dean asked softly. "You're the one that's going to have to live with it." Sam shifted and rested his head on Dean's shoulder. He was tired, he couldn't think straight, and he was more than content to leave this one in his brother's hands. Dean gave him a light squeeze. "Fine," he said aloud. "Easier to manage him when he's not twelve feet tall anyway."

"Good. That's settled, then. If you have anything to say to him, say it now. I'm going, and once I'm gone he'll be a blubbering mess again… at least until you and he manage to find away to deal with it."

Sam felt Dean's grip slacken. He slid down and back onto the cot and looked up at Dean expectantly. Dean studied him.

"What are you now, four?"

Sam shrugged. Behind him he heard Gabriel say, "That would be about right. I was going for six, but mortals measure time intervals in such ridiculously short units. It's impossible to be accurate down to the exact _year_."

"Wasn't asking you. Sammy, you OK? Can you talk to me?"

Sam realized he hadn't said a word since Dean had woken up. "I'm _fine_, Dean. Well, except…" He shrugged helplessly.

"Don't worry, kiddo, we'll deal with this. OK?" Sam nodded. Without quite realizing what he was doing, he held up his hands. Before he could pull them back, though, Dean had picked him up again. "Tell you what, you can get a free pass till you're normal. But once this is over, you so much as breathe a word of this and I'll –"

"Kill me?"

"_Not funny._"

"Sorry." Sam snaked his arms around Dean's neck again and felt his brother sigh. A happy thought occurred to him. The puppy-dog eyes had worked much better when he'd been four, hadn't they?

"It's OK, Sammy."

"It's Sam."

"You're _four_. It's Sammy."

Sam scowled, but he couldn't muster up any real heat for it, not when Dean was making him feel safe and warm and his big brother's arms were a protective barrier between him and the rest of the world.

"Sam, I'm going now." He heard Gabriel's voice. The archangel stepped into his field of vision. "You're going to feel a bit of a jolt. Dean, I wouldn't try taking him on the road till he's found a little more control – the way he is now you'll have CPS called on you in about five minutes."

The next sound Sam heard was his own screaming.

_He was there, he was there and Dean was there and standing over him –_

"It's OK, Sammy."

_And Dean was laughing at him because he had Sam helpless, trussed up so he couldn't move a muscle and Dean could torture him slowly without worrying about him trying to get free –_

"Shhh, Sammy, it's not real."

_He was begging, pleading, promising not to screw up again but Dean was ignoring him because it was too late for apologies, too late to fix things, and Dean wasn't going to waste his breath on a freak who couldn't be trusted, was he?_

"Sammy, it's not real, I promise."

_Except that Dean _was_ wasting his breath, enough to tell Sam why he was doing this, because Sam had ruined his life, ruined his chance at a happy childhood because he was a freak, ruined his adult life by being a monster –_

"Shhh, it's OK. It's OK."

_He could feel it now, feel the knives and the fire and oh God the rack, Dean was going to put him on the rack –_

"Sammy, I'm here."

_It was going to be quick this time, mercifully quick, because Sam could see in Dean's eyes that he couldn't bear to look at Sam, couldn't bear to have Sam there even to torture him. And he was right because he felt the knife in his chest and the pain and then –_

And then there was nothing but his own heaving breaths, Dean's arms around him and a litany of promises and reassurances in his ear.

"Dean?"

He felt Dean's sigh of relief. "It's OK, Sammy. I've got you. You're safe."

Sam opened his mouth, but before he could say anything he was jerked back.

_It was Lucifer now, Lucifer and Michael, and they would be patient and take their time and enjoy every minute –_

"Shhh, Sammy. I know. I _know_."

* * *

What did you think? Good? Bad? Please review!


	4. The Beam of the Past to My Soul

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

Thanks to Cheryl for her help and advice.

Many thanks to my wonderful reviewers, TLC, Menthol Pixie, MysteryMadchen, Solana, crazybookworm95, Cainchan, zenatjuhh, Trish62, Klutzygirl33, jensengirl4eva, SandyDee84, BranchSuper, angeleyenc, moonlessnight93, supercharmed89, sai518, OutTonightAndForever, ami, Twinchester Angel, Don't need one, Scribble2Much and crazybeagle.

* * *

**Chapter IV: The Beam of the Past to My Soul**

The onegood thing, Dean reflected as he supported Sam against his shoulder with one arm and opened the door with his free hand, the _one _good thing was that now they wouldn't, at least, be confined to the panic room. Sam was quiet now, not at peace, just wrung out. He was still stiff, still clutching Dean's shirt with two tiny fists, and there were still silent tears trickling down soaking the material.

But he fit in Dean's arms just like he had when he'd been four – in fact, _better_ than that, because Dean was bigger now, and after years of hauling Sam's six-and-a-half-foot bulk around, this was nothing.

First they had to get the kid some clothes, though. He was still wearing the shirt he'd been wearing the previous morning and it hung on him like a tent.

"Realize now how freaking overgrown you are, Sammy?" Dean asked. There was no response, but he hadn't been expecting one. He was just talking so Sam could hear his voice. "Can't take you shopping, though, so Bobby's going to have to go on a run for us." He took the stairs with one hand on the banister to steady himself. "It's OK, kiddo. You're OK. Big brother's here."

Dean had no idea why he was talkingto Sam like he was four years old. Gabriel had said Sam was the right age mentally, and Dean had seen evidence of it. It was just coming out involuntarily, and Sam seemed to be responding to it, girl that he was. The crying didn't stop, but at least Sam was leaning into him instead of away from him and talking to him when the memories gave him a moment's respite. Right now, Dean was willing to take anything he could get.

He found Bobby in the kitchen putting coffee in the percolator.

Dean got both arms around Sam reassuringly, cleared his throat, and said, "Bobby."

Bobby looked up.

Bobby straightened and stared from Dean to Sam and back.

"Umm, Bobby?" Dean tried.

"Who did it?"

Dean was inexpressibly relieved that Bobby didn't waste time on stupid questions like, "Is that really Sam?"

"Gabriel," Dean said, rubbing Sam's back absent-mindedly. "He's still himself mentally – at least, I think so. Haven't had a chance to do much talking, but he remembers – you know." A sudden hitched breath from Sam, and Dean, cursed himself for bringing it up. "Shhh, it's OK, Sammy. Gabriel thinks this is going to help," he added to Bobby. "He said he'd change him back in a few days, or however long it takes."

Bobby seemed to want to say something, but then he thought better of it.

"Right. We're going to need stuff, then. Clothes, to begin with, because if somebody comes by and sees him wearing that we'll have the cops here. And sleeping pills, the kind they give kids, just in case he can't get rest any other way. We should probably get some kiddie Tylenol too, knowing Sam he'll start running a fever just to screw with us. He get any sleep last night?"

"Only when he screamed himself out." Sam's breath caught. "Sounds like it's going to start again soon, Bobby, so if you need to ask him anything…"

"No, I don't, but we need to figure out how to get him to eat. Can't do it like _this_," he added as small shudders began to run through Sam's frame. "He'll choke. But his sanity's going to be a moot point if he starves." He hesitated, his face showing reluctance. "Dean, if he doesn't improve by tonight we'll have to put him on an IV or something."

Sam whimpered at that, a sound so _wrong_ that Dean almost started sobbing with him.

"Shhh, Sammy, I'm here. Bobby, no IV. There has to be another way."

"The other way is for him to get dehydrated and for us to have to take him to the hospital. They'll put in an IV anyway. Then they'll call CPS, take him away, and probably put Sam in the psychiatric ward. You want that for him?"

"Just – Sammy, I'm _here_ – let's just get through this round. Don't think anything's happening till then. Hopefully he'll tire himself out enough to stay quiet for a while. I'm right here, Sammy, not going anywhere. I don't think we're going to have any luck with solid food, but maybe he'll be able to keep liquids down. Should keep him going – OK, kiddo, it's OK – for a couple of days. If Cas shows his ass by then he might have some ideas."

That was the last sentence Dean addressed to Bobby for a while, because that was when it started again and the next two hours were a confused jumble of Sam screaming, the pleas and desperate promises and agonized yells much worse in his child's voice, and Dean's world was reduced to _Sammy, I'm here_ and _Sammy, it's OK_.

By the time it ended Dean was in tears himself, having finally broken down somewhere around _God, at least kill me quickly, Dean_ and been unable to stem the flood once it had started.

When the final scream trailed off into soft sobbing, Dean rubbed Sam's back between his shoulder blades and said softly, "It's OK, Sammy. It's over."

"'Msorry," Sam sniffled.

"Not your fault, kiddo. OK, come here." Dean sat down in one of Bobby's kitchen chairs and set Sam down in front of him on the table. "Don't know how long we've got before the next one hits, so you have to eat something, Sam."

Suspicious hazel eyes looked at him out of Sam's four-year-old face. "You've not eaten anything, either."

"I'll eat, too," Dean said, not even trying to argue. He didn't think there was much to choose between four-year-old Sam and twenty-eight-year-old Sam for stubbornness, and he didn't particularly want to try and see. "Together, OK, Sam?"

Dean wondered where to put Sam while he ate: Bobby had never possessed such a thing as a high chair and he didn't dare put Sam on a pile of cushions in a regular chair in case he lost his balance. He was thoroughly exhausted and Dean had a strong suspicion he'd fall asleep any minute. Finally he settled for leaving Sam where he was on the table, where Dean could keep an eye on him and grab him if he fell.

Bobby, who'd been getting things ready while Dean had been comforting Sam, brought a sandwich for Dean and a bowl of broth for Sam.

"Keeping you on a liquid diet for now," he told Sam gruffly. "Less chance of you bringing it up, and you need all the nutrition you can get if this is how you're going to be spending your time." He glanced at Dean. "He seems OK now."

Dean nodded; he had noticed the same thing. The periods of rest in between the _attacks_, when Sam went quiet from exhaustion or because his throat had given and out and he had no tears left, were… well, not _good_, but they were _better_. Sam seemed almost himself then, just bone-weary and half-conscious and not really aware of what he was saying.

"I'm guessing if he tires himself out enough, he can't think too much… Maybe not think at all. He's better then."

He couldn't help grinning at the sight Sam made, sitting on the table trying to spoon up the broth and succeeding only in slopping most of it over himself. Under _any _circumstances but these, he'd be taking a video to blackmail Sam with for the rest of his _life_.

Dean finished his sandwich, took his plate to the sink while Bobby stood guard next to the table, and came back to Sam.

"OK, let me do that." He reached for the spoon.

"_Dean._" Sam snatched it out of his reach and glared at him. "I can feed myself."

"Sam, you're _four_ years old," Dean said, tactfully steering clear of how ridiculous and adorable the bitchface looked on a very young Sam. "You've been screaming almost non-stop for hours. You're exhausted. Stop being an idiot." Sam continued to glare. "Come _on_, dude. I will never mention it again." When Sam didn't give in, Dean briefly considered force-feeding him, but he had a sudden thought before he could start. "Wait right here, kiddo."

He went to the cupboard and came back with a coffee mug. He poured the broth into it and held the mug out to Sam.

"Here, try this."

Sam took it, chubby baby fingers getting around it easily, and held it to his lips. Dean kept a hand on the mug, because he was _so _not risking any accidents, but just a hand, and Sam had enough control to feel… well, to feel in control. He wasn't in control of what was going in his head, and he wasn't really in control of his body, either, at the moment, and if all he had to feel good about was being able to hold his own mug, then Dean was going to give him that.

Dean sensed the change almost as soon as he set the mug down. He glanced at Bobby, questioning.

"Just half a pill, Dean," Bobby said. "And the weakest I've got. He needs the sleep. So do you." Dean opened his mouth to argue, shrugged and nodded. "So you go up, you get him to bed, you go to bed yourself, and meanwhile I'll get some shopping done. You need a car seat?"

"Sam didn't need a car seat for the Impala when he really _was _four."

He scooped Sam up again, earning himself a sleepy but irritated, "I could _walk_ when I was four, you know, Dean."

"Stay awake till we get upstairs and we can talk about it."

Dean marched up the stairs, ignoring Sam's drowsy protests. At the top, he put Sam down, pointed him in the direction of the bedroom they usually shared at Bobby's, and said, "Fine. Walk."

He heard Bobby snicker behind him as Sam took a couple of unsteady steps towards the bedroom. Sam heard the snicker, too. He turned to make another hilariously cute attempt at a Sam Winchester bitchface. Then he turned back and took a few more steps forward, nearly falling over on the last one.

About to call an end to it before Sam actually fell and hurt himself, Dean realized that maybe this was another thing his little brother needed to do.

He stepped up next to Sam and held out his hand.

Sam made a face. "_Dude._"

"Not a request, Sammy."

"But I'm –"

"What you are right now is a Sasquatch in miniature, so stop being stupid. Come _on_, Sam. Pretend we're crossing the street." Sam opened his mouth. A yawn caught him before he could say anything. Dean just about managed not to laugh. "Fall over while we're standing here and I am _carrying_ you, Sammy."

Sam scowled, but he reached up and took Dean's hand. It seemed to steady him, and he managed to make the few steps to the bedroom. Dean swung him up onto the bed.

Once Sam was asleep, Dean turned to Bobby.

"I got it," Bobby said. "I had you two stay here as kids often enough. I'll get what he needs. You just take care of him… I'm guessing it's not going to be this easy when he wakes up. House is locked down, doors and windows salted. Nothing can get in here – nothing that I know, anyway."

Dean nodded, watched Bobby leave the room, and then got into his own bed without even bothering to undress.

It wasn't Sam's screaming that woke him.

It was somebody pounding on the door, yelling for Bobby.

Dean sat up in bed and glanced at Sam. The kid was stirring, and _damn it _if whoever the hell it was managed to wake him up then Dean was going to go ballistic on their ass.

_Right. First things first._

"It's nothing, Sammy. Go back to sleep." Dean rubbed Sam's back, wishing they'd just go – freaking – _away_. Didn't the idiots _get _that Bobby wasn't home?

Sam wasn't settling down, the noise from downstairs wasn't letting him, and it was just getting _louder_. If he could go down and shut them up – but there was no way he could leave Sam alone.

Growling wordlessly, he seized Sam, who miraculously did not come awake through the process of being snatched, shaken free of blankets and settled against Dean's shoulder. If anything, it seemed to calm him down a little, for which Dean was inexpressibly relieved. The last thing he needed was for these morons to think he was abusing his baby brother.

"Come on, Sammy," he said softly. "Downstairs. Let's go, kiddo."

He carried Sam down, shifted him easily into a one-handed hold so that he could open the door –

And stared.

"What the _hell _are you doing here?"

* * *

Yes. Of course I had to leave it there. ;-)

What did you think? Good? Bad? Please review!


	5. These Are Words of Deeper Sorrow

**Disclaimer: **Still not mine.

Thanks to Cheryl for advice and encouragement!

Many thanks to Klutzygirl33, Menthol Pixie, BranchSuper, SandyDee84, crazybeagle, TLC, supercharmed89, Kailene, casammy, OutTonightAndForever, angeleyenc, The Eleventh Marauder, teal-lover, Solana, aXforamnesty, zenatjuhh, Twinchester Angel and cookjar for the reviews!

* * *

**Chapter V: These Are Words of Deeper Sorrow**

"What the _hell _are you doing here?"

Dean's words floated over his head, floated over the nothing that held Sam and in which he was trying to stay, because he knew what waking up fully would bring.

He curled his hands around Dean's shirt. It was ridiculous and embarrassing – it was his freaking _body_ that had regressed, not his _mind_ – but it was comforting, in a way. This version of his body had instincts that his adult self had been suppressing for so long that he could barely remember them, instincts like _Big brother knows everything_ – damned if that didn't sound disturbingly Orwellian – and _You're always safe if Dean's there_.

In a way it was good, though, and maybe Gabriel had been right. He felt an odd sense of… of _safety_, and the blind faith in Dean that he'd had and forgotten and now found again was turning out to be an unshakeable anchor when the memories began to overwhelm him.

Like… now.

Sam shivered, cringed, and buried himself in the warmth of Dean's shoulder. Dean understood, and rubbed Sam's head and back gently. Sam found himself drifting off again, and he let it happen.

"Who's that?"

_Crap._ The sharp voice had jolted him into almost-wakefulness. He felt the weight of memory bearing down –

And Dean's hand was there, soothing, comforting him, trying to lull him back to sleep.

"If you're going to talk," Dean said, as softly and gently as though he were telling Sam a bedtime story, "do it _quietly_. You'll wake the kid up."

_Too late, Dean_, Sam wanted to say. _I'm already awake_.

Except that he _wasn't _awake, not really, and as long as he didn't say anything there was the chance that he'd just drift back to sleep without a problem, without an attack, without –

"Who is _that_?"

It was a man's voice, one that sounded vaguely familiar. Sam couldn't place it, because the flood of memories had made things difficult to sort out. He knew _Dean_, and he sort of knew _Bobby_, and he was content to let it go at that until he could find the energy to think.

"Sammy," Dean said quietly, and Sam couldn't tell if the word was to soothe him or to answer the question.

Dean was holding him with just one arm, though; the hand that had been stroking his head and back was gone, and that meant Dean had his _gun_ out, and that meant that he didn't trust whoever it was.

"That's _Sam_?" It was a woman's voice. "That's… He's… What _happened_? He get in the way of a spell?"

"Something like that. And he's really a little cranky right now, so if you two could just get your asses in your car and mosey – shhh, Sammy, go back to sleep – mosey on out of here _before_ I shoot you both, I would appreciate it."

"Let me see him."

It was the man's voice again, hard, insistent, and Sam felt Dean take a step back but he obviously wasn't fast enough because there was a hand on his back, not Dean and not Bobby, someone had grabbed him from Dean's arms and _God _it was freaky the way people could just handle him like a mail-order parcel when he was supposed to be taller than everyone else in the room.

His hunter's training overrode his body's instincts and Sam opened his eyes, letting himself come fully awake. Behind him he heard Dean say, "Give him to me _now_ or I will not leave enough of you to salt and burn!"

"_You've always been in the way, Sam. Whining and complaining and bitching and needing to be watched after. I've had it, and I'm glad you're gone. At least I can live the rest of my life in peace."_

Focus. _Focus. _He had to stay focused because it wasn't just his life on the line here, it was Dean's. As long as this man had him Dean would be paying attention to Sam and nothing else, he wouldn't be watching for things that might be attacking _him_.

"_I'm going to have so much fun listening to you scream, Sam."_

Freaking _focus_. _Your body's four, you're not!_

Sam was in control but he knew he had only seconds before it became too much for him to handle. The man was holding him competently – unlike Gabriel, he obviously knew how to hold a child – but not the way Dean did. He was being supported with one hand while the other waved wildly, waved a shotgun in Dean's direction while the man ranted about something Sam couldn't be bothered to listen to.

But the man was careless, thinking Sam wasn't a threat. He waited until the man's wrist was within reach and then he went for it, biting as hard as he could. The man yelled and dropped him.

Sam landed on his feet and bolted for Dean, for hands that were lowered to catch him and scoop him up and hold him to a warm, solid chest. "That's my boy," Dean said, sounding fiercely proud, and Sam managed to huff a laugh before the memories he'd been holding at bay suddenly broke over him.

He whimpered, cringing at how pathetic he sounded, fighting not to scream, and turned his face into Dean's shirt.

He _couldn't_ scream. He couldn't scream, because if he did, Dean would drop everything and focus on him and then Dean might get hurt and so he couldn't scream.

_And Dean was tracing the lines of muscle on Sam's chest with a scythe and it felt like –_

Don't scream. Can't scream.

Sam didn't try to stop the tears – he knew from experience that was useless. He was crying like the baby Gabriel had turned him into, shaking with silent sobs, but as long as he kept it quiet Dean could force himself to focus on other threats.

Dean was talking.

"_Does that hurt, Sam? Does it? Not nearly enough. I'll get there, though."_

Focus. Focus on what Dean's saying _here_ and _now_.

"… And I swear, if it weren't for the fact that the last thing Sammy needs now is to hear gunshots and see blood I would shoot you right there."

"I'm asking for your _help_."

"You sold us out to freaking _Crowley_ so you could make the same freaking mistake I freaking warned you we make _every_ _single time_. You were willing to give up Sam's soul to do it!"

"I'm sorry. But she's your _mother_. Don't you want her back?"

"_Mom's dead because of you, Sam. Dead because you were born a freak."_

Focus. Dean.

"Of course I want her back! And I want my dad back. I want Sammy to be able to laugh at me and make bitchfaces instead of having memories of two hundred years of being tortured by Michael and Lucifer. We don't always get what we want."

"So you'll just accept that?"

"I've made mistakes, and I'm trying to learn from them."

"Trying to _learn _from them? You went off half-cocked and killed Crowley –"

"Oh, yeah. So how'd it feel to betray your grandsons?"

_Sam can feel ribs snapping and shattering as Dean's fist finds his chest._

Not Dean. Not Dean.

Sam tried to snuggle closer to Dean. Dean shifted his grip, raising Sam a little so that his head fit neatly into the hollow between Dean's neck and shoulder.

"I want to talk to Sam."

"No." Dean's voice was pure venom.

"He's my grandson."

"Should've thought of that before you decided to sell him out."

"Look, I have to talk to him."

"I'm standing right here. Talk to me."

_Sucking in painful breaths through his ruined ribcage and staring up at merciless green eyes and a cold smile –_

Focus. Breathe.

Sam was starting to choke on his sobs. He was reaching the end of his endurance. There was just no way he could hold out much longer, not even to keep from distracting Dean.

Dean obviously sensed it, too, because when the other man said something he snapped, "That's it. Get out."

"You don't understand. Sam will know how to bring her back without – without any side-effects."

Dean let out a breath. "Fine. Sam's never said anything to me about it, but if there's anyone who could figure it out, it would be him. So maybe he knows. But I doubt he remembers right now. He's sort of got other things on his mind."

"Hell?" the other man asked. "That's the point, Dean."

Sam managed to muffle his soft moan in Dean's shirt. Dean heard anyway, and when he spoke again he sounded like he was about a millimetre away from putting a bullet through someone.

"_What _is your point?"

"Michael would know these things – I have a fairly reliable source who told me that. The source also told me Sam knows. Michael told him when they were –"

That was the last thing Sam heard, because it was as though the words opened a floodgate and it was there, he was there, and it was worse than it had ever been before.

_Cold and bright, so bright it's dark because the light is burning his eyes, burning out his retinas, and he can't see anything or hear anything. But he knows Michael and Lucifer are there, one on each side of him, and at least it's not Dean, at least they're not using Dean's face this time._

Don't scream. It'll distract Dean. Don't scream.

Sam drew in a shaking, shuddering breath. He could do this. He could do it for Dean's sake. He just had to hold out a few more minutes, long enough for Dean to get rid of these people, and then he could let go and Dean would hold him together.

_Michael's hand is on Sam's arm, burning hot, and Lucifer's hand on his other arm, burning cold, and Sam can feel his skin blistering where they're touching him. The pain starts slow and builds up impossibly, he's hurting and he didn't think it was possible to hurt this much and –_

_And oh thank God, Dean's here. Dean's going to get him out._

_Suddenly Lucifer and Michael are gone and Sam's panting in the aftermath of the pain and Dean's sitting next to him, one steadying hand on Sam's chest, and Sam lets himself relax into the touch._

"_Feeling better, Sammy?" Sam manages to nod. "Good."_

_And then Dean's face twists, the gentle smile disappearing in a grimace of fury and hatred –_

Not real. Not real. Notrealnotrealnotreal.

Maybe it was like fighting Lucifer. He'd fought Lucifer in his head, hadn't he, with Dean's help? Fought him and pushed him down and held him immobile. Maybe – maybe he could do the same thing with the memories. It wouldn't last long, but he only needed a few more minutes.

Sam, battered and bruised and scarcely able to think straight, faced off against the rising tide of fear.

_Dean is mocking him, laughing at his weakness, telling him how glad he is to have this chance to be rid of him at last. Because without Sam he'd have had a normal life, had parents and a girlfriend and gone to college and maybe had kids of his own. Without Sam he would have been happy._

Not real.

Sam kept repeating that to himself, kept up the litany in his head as he struggled to push the memories of pain and fire somewhere where they couldn't hurt him. He couldn't block them out, and he couldn't do anything permanent, but maybe, _maybe_ he could do something that would hold them for a while… a few minutes…

_Then the knife, Dean's got the demon-killing knife and he's using it because you can't use a regular knife on a monster, not on a monster like Sam._

It was no good. The memories were too strong and he was going to lose.

"_You're not even my brother. I bet Mom and Dad just took you in without realizing you were demon-spawn. Like all those old stories of changelings. I can't believe we're even related."_

That could break him. Nothing else could but _that _could because _damn it_, it hurt and _he _hurt and all he wanted, all he'd ever wanted, was Dean.

Sam retreated under the assault, and as though the memories had intelligence of their own, the strength intensified now that he was weakening. He couldn't –

"_Monster."_

Not from Dean. He could take it from anyone but not from Dean.

"_I'm better off without you."_

God please no, not this.

_He's on the edge of a precipice and one wrong step will send him tumbling. If he falls, he'll be lost, lost down a hole so deep that even Dean can't get him out._

Sam felt both Dean's arms around him, meaning he'd put down the gun, and he was sorry for distracting Dean but at least it meant he could finally stop fighting because Dean was there to pick up the pieces if he fell apart. There was a voice in his ear, gentle and caring and promising him he was safe, nobody could hurt him, but –

_But Dean's ignoring his begging, ignoring his pleas and promises to do better, not to screw up again. Sam's looking into those merciless eyes and he knows his brother is going to torture him to death –_

"Shhh, Sammy, I'm here. I'm not leaving you. You're OK. You're OK. You did _good_, Sam, holding out that long."

_Dean's starting slow, slow and easy, just using the knife to trace patterns on Sam's chest without piercing the lowest layer of his skin._

"I'm so proud of you, Sammy. You know that, don't you? Shhh, kiddo, it's OK. Dean's here. Big brother's here. I'm going to take care of you. Nothing's going to hurt you on my watch. You're OK, Sammy, it's not real. OK? Not real."

"_Dean… please…"_

"Yeah, I know. Shhh."

"_Dean, PLEASE!"_

Someone was sobbing. Not him.

Dean was sobbing.

Dean was _sobbing_?

_Dean?_

"I'm sorry, Sammy. I'm so sorry. I would take the pain for you if I could."

Dean!

And that was the thought that gave him strength.

"_Know what I'm going to do now, Sammy? I'm going to kill you… slowly."_

_You're not Dean._

_The room quivers, strains. Sam knows he has it right._

_You're not real._

And Sam was safe in Dean's arms, sobbing his heart out against Dean's shoulder. He didn't say anything, but Dean seemed to know he was back because he held him tighter, closer, until he could feel his big brother's heart thudding against his ribs.

"_Now _can I talk to him?"

"Are you out of your _mind_?" Dean snarled. "No, you bloody well can't! Now get the hell out of here before I put a round of iron in your ass!"

"Sam!" Sam felt the man trying to grab for him again but Dean was ready for it this time, and the man only got a fingertip to him before he was pushed off. "Sam, your brother's gone crazy, but I'm really not asking you for much. You owe me this, Sam. You owe _Mary_ this. She died for _you_."

And oh _God _that was real. He hadn't imagined it.

Sam stared at the man, a wave of guilt and misery washing over him even as he heard Dean going ballistic. The man – and the woman with him; she'd been so quiet he'd practically forgotten about her – shrank back in the face of Dean's anger. Sam could feel Dean shaking and hear him yelling – and _wow_, Sam hadn't known Dean knew swear words in _Latin_ – and the other people actually looked _scared_. Sam wasn't scared in the least: _this _Dean was _his _Dean, and _his _Dean would never hurt him.

A new voice broke into Dean's yelling.

"What the hell are _you_ doing in my house?"

Bobby was back.

_And Sam was jerked away again, unprepared, and he felt the ground slide out from under him as his legs gave way.

* * *

_

Next update – Friday or Saturday, most likely.

What did you think? Good? Bad? Please review!


	6. Back from the Mouth of Hell

**Disclaimer: **I wish the boys were mine, but…

Much gratitude to Cheryl for helping me with this fic.

Thanks to my wonderful reviewers: Klutzygirl33, SandyDee84, supercharmed89, zenatjuhh, crazybeagle, crazybookworm95, T.L. Arens, MysteryMadchen, cookjar, The Eleventh Marauder, Menthol Pixie, BranchSuper, TLC, Trish62, angeleyenc, aXforamnesty, Scribble2Much, solana, LvSammy and Twinchester Angel.

**Author's Note:** I wasn't going to say anything about this here, but since people have asked – no, Adam won't be featuring in this. The way I see it, Adam's upstairs. Dean thinks he's in the Cage, yeah, but until somebody who knows actually verbally confirms that Adam is there (Death didn't say he was in the Cage, after all – Dean did and Death just didn't disagree with him), I'm going to go with the idea that he's in Heaven (because that's what I assumed Michael meant in _Swan Song_ when he told Dean Adam wasn't home).

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**Chapter VI: Back from the Mouth of Hell**

Dean sat back on Bobby's sofa, Sam curled up in his lap. He was finally wearing clothes that fit him, and it somehow made him look even younger.

Or maybe it wasn't the clothes, it was just his expression as he sat there unmoving, head resting on Dean's ribs, arms wrapped around his knees. He had been clingy since the incident with Samuel. He hadn't actually _said _anything when Dean had lowered him to the sofa and gone to get himself a beer and Sammy some chocolate milk – because no matter how much Sam glowered, he was freaking _four_ and Dean was _not _giving him alcohol or even _caffeine_ – but the slump in his shoulders when Dean had come back had been enough.

Not that Dean was complaining. He didn't want Sam out of his sight, either.

Bobby had shown up in the middle of his argument with Samuel, just when the old _moron_ had all but told Sammy he was responsible for their mother's death and Dean had finally lost his temper. It had taken Bobby a few seconds to make sense of Dean's incoherent rage and Samuel's explanations, but when he _had _finally understood, he'd pulled out his shotgun and given Samuel a count of ten to get off his premises or get a hole in his head.

The thing really worrying Dean was that Sam hadn't said a word since then. No screaming, no pleading, no talking, _nothing_. The silence was unnerving.

Dean and Bobby had both tried to get him to talk. Sam hadn't responded at all to Bobby. With Dean he'd managed a smile and held out his hands to be picked up, an unconsciously childish gesture that sent Dean's heart shooting up into his throat. He'd sensed Sam's internal struggle while he'd been dealing with Samuel, but he hadn't dared stop and help, not when there was a danger that Samuel would overpower him and take Sam and for all Dean knew torture him for information that Dean wasn't even sure Sam _had_.

Dean could tell Sam had won, but had it come at a price?

Dean desperately wanted Sam to talk to him. But he wasn't expecting to get what he wanted, because when did _that_ ever happen, and so he was startled enough to jump and almost drop Sam when the young voice said unexpectedly, "Dean?"

"Yeah, Sammy?" he asked, rubbing his brother's back.

Sam looked up at him, hazel eyes wide and lost and _scared_.

"I can't find it."

"What can't you find, Sammy?"

"How to get Mom back. I'm sorry."

Dean felt an overwhelming rush of emotion, a jumble of fury – the next time he got his hands on Samuel, _one _of them was going to be salted and burned before the day ended, and it wasn't going to be Dean – frustration and _Sammy please no_.

"We can't bring her back, Sam. You know that. It would mess up the natural order."

"Maybe you should've asked Death for her instead of me."

Dean sensed Bobby get up and leave to give them some privacy. He was grateful. Bobby was Bobby, but there were some conversations he needed to have with _Sam_.

"Up." Dean took Sam's hands and helped him get to his feet, standing on Dean's knees so that they were at the same eye level. "You know she wouldn't have wanted that, Sam. Even if it had worked, she would never have forgiven me for it, and I would never have forgiven myself. You _know _that."

"You would've had Mom again."

"Yeah, well, now I've got my pain-in-the-ass _little _brother," Dean said, smiling as he emphasized the word 'little'. "Dude, you have _any _idea how cute you are? You're a freaking chick magnet, and one day before Gabriel changes you back we're going out and you're going to help your big brother get a date." Seeing Sam's eyes get dewy – and seriously, freaking puppy-dog eyes on freaking four-year-old Sammy ought to be _outlawed_ as a weapon of mass destruction – he said, "I don't think we're meant to have her back, Sammy."

"Maybe you're not meant to have _me_ back."

"Dude, they told us we're going to be in the same _Heaven_. Of course I'm meant to have you back."

"Would you rather have her?"

Dean sighed and pulled Sam in for a hug, because there was no way he could look into his baby brother's sad eyes and talk cogently.

"No, Sammy. I love Mom, and I miss her, and I hate that she's not here, but I _can_ live without her, however little I want to. There's no way I can live without you. The only reason I didn't try to pull you out was because I couldn't find a way to do it – no lore, no mad mediaeval monks, no alchemists' secrets, freaking _zilch_. Every night – _every night_ – I'd dream of you falling and I'd wake up and I'd wish I could just die and never have to wake up again. It was the worst year of my life, Sammy." He paused, rubbing Sam's back. "Is that what this has been about? You've been trying to figure out if you knew a way to get Mom back?" There was no answer. "Sammy?"

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm scared."

Dean knew what it would have cost his brother to make that admission: Sam's _mind_ was still the right age, after all.

"What're you scared of, kiddo?"

"What if it never gets better? What if it's always the memories and the nightmares and all I get is a couple of hours of sanity a day? What if it gets _worse_?"

"To begin with, you _are _going to get better. I'm going to make it happen. And even if you don't, it's OK. We'll deal. We'll get ourselves a cabin somewhere in the middle of the forest like that friend of Dad's and we can start rumours about it being haunted to keep trespassers away and _I _will take care of you."

"You can't do it forever."

"Who says I can't?"

"I did it for you, Dean," Sam said, and Dean could hear the desperate pleading in his voice. "I – I did it so you could be happy and have a life and have a girlfriend and… I did it for _you_."

"Yeah, I know you did." And Dean _did _know; he'd always known. "I know you did, Sammy, but the hardest thing I ever did in my entire life was to let you go that day. I did it once. I'm not doing it again. The world can find someone else to stop the Apocalypse this time."

Sam sighed.

"Do you think Cas found it?"

"Purgatory?" Dean asked. "I don't know. And right now I don't care, Sam." He rubbed his little brother's head. "How about we go for a drive after lunch? Just you and me and my baby. We can't go into town, but if we drive out to the countryside there'll be nobody to hear and call me a child abuser if the memories start up again." Sam said nothing, and Dean urged, "Come on, kiddo, or the Impala's going to think you don't like her anymore."

He caught a glimpse of Bobby in the doorway.

"We'll discuss it later, Sam. Lunchtime now. Come on."

"I'm not hungry."

"I don't care. You're going to eat – either voluntarily or be force-fed, it's your choice."

Sam glared at him, but scrambled off his lap and ran for the kitchen. Dean shook his head and followed, knowing the lull couldn't last.

By the time Dean got to the kitchen, Bobby had lifted Sam onto a pile of books on a chair. It was a very appropriate booster seat for the little geek, but Dean found himself frowning at Bobby. They had no way of knowing when the next attack would be, since they were coming from inside Sam's head, and that was just _way_ too precarious a perch.

"Relax, Dean," Bobby said irritably. "You sit on one side of him, I'll sit on the other, and he can't fall."

He set a mug of vegetable soup in front of Sam. He and Dean, after a rapid discussion, had decided to keep Sam on liquids for a few days unless he actually asked for something. Solid foods could turn your stomach after the Pit and there was no knowing what would do it: the most innocuous of things had had Dean running for the bathroom in the beginning. With Sam the way he was, they couldn't risk him bringing up what he ate.

They actually got through lunch without incident, and Dean was beginning to relax, when it started again.

Dean cursed Cas, Gabriel, himself, Michael, Lucifer, Bobby, Crowley, Meg, Death, Tessa, Samuel, Gwen, _everyone_ he knew except for Sam himself as hurried his baby brother upstairs.

This one lasted longer than any of the others. Dean had to let Bobby take over for a few spells in between so he could get out and stretch his legs. It felt like betrayal to give Sam into anyone else's hands, even Bobby's, especially once when he did it during one of Sam's lucid flashes and got the puppy-dog eyes full force, but he had to. He had to do it because he had to keep himself at 100% so that he could be there when Sam needed him.

But that didn't mean it didn't hurt.

When it ended it was past dinnertime. Dean collapsed into an exhausted heap on Sam's bed, too tired even to get up and go to his own. Sam hadn't eaten – Dean had, on Bobby's threats – but he was _finally _dropping off to sleep and Dean didn't have the heart to make him move. He just raised his arm so Sam could wriggle under it, curled himself protectively around his now very little brother and pulled the blankets up over both of them.

He woke up when Sam started tossing restlessly in his sleep.

"Oh, come _on_!" Dean growled. "You have _got _to be kidding me! Nightmares when he's awake and now nightmares when he's asleep?" He glared up at the ceiling. "This is bloody unfair, you know that?"

He hesitated, wondering whether waking Sam would make it better or worse. A soft plea of "Dean" decided him: at least awake Sammy would know he was there.

Dean laid a hand on Sam's shoulder and gave him a light shake. Hazel eyes shot open, staring at Dean in the darkness for several seconds before Sam rolled over, facing away from Dean, and started to sob. Dean sighed – the clock on the nightstand said they'd had four hours: more sleep than he expected, and he knew he wouldn't get Sam to doze off again now.

"Since you're up anyway…" He got to his feet, grabbed Sam under the arms and swung him up in the air. "Bath time."

That got Sam's attention.

"What? Dude, _no_. You are _so _not bathing me."

"You are so not bathing yourself."

"_Dean._ No. Just – just put me down. I don't need you to – just _no_. Look, why don't you go downstairs and wax the Impala or something? I'll come down when I'm ready."

"Go downstairs and wax the Impala? Why, so you can have an attack while you're in the bathroom by yourself, fall down, knock yourself out and drown in the shower? Not happening, Sammy." Sam tried the bitchface. "Still not happening, Sam." Puppy-dog eyes. Dean sighed. "Fine. I'll meet you halfway. I'll stand in the bathroom, you draw the curtain, and you talk to me while you're taking your shower. As long as you keep talking, I'll know you're OK and I won't interfere."

Sam grumbled but agreed.

It went well for the first few minutes. Then Sam abruptly stuck his head out between the curtains.

"Dean. Clothes."

"Sammy?" Dean drew back the curtains, reached over Sam's head to turn off the water, and tossed him a towel, all in the space of about three seconds. "You OK?"

"Going to start. I can… feel… _it_."

* * *

"I'm taking him out." Bobby looked as though he thought Dean had lost his mind. Dean found himself rolling his eyes impatiently. "I've been out, you've been out, the only one who hasn't been out of the house is Sam! And considering that he's trying to get over memories of being trapped in a box for two centuries, he's the one who _needs_ to get out."

"Dean, he can't be around other people."

"Not other people. I'll put him in the Impala and we'll just drive, maybe stop somewhere in the woods and get out for a bit."

"You can keep an eye on Sam in the woods?"

Dean pointedly rubbed Sam's back. After the last attack, Sam had just about managed half a glass of milk before he'd fallen into a fitful doze with his head nestled in the crook of Dean's elbow. Sam had become so emo and clingy since the de-aging that Dean almost couldn't recognize him – sure, Sam had always liked to talk, but crying himself to sleep in his big brother's arms on a regular basis? Sam was _so _lucky that Dean was too awesome a brother to try to blackmail him.

And, although Dean would never say it aloud, he kind of liked this. He'd missed being needed.

After what seemed like half an hour, Bobby shook his head. "Fine. I suppose he does need fresh air. Just be careful. And don't stop to pass the time of day with _anyone_."

Dean raised an eyebrow. _You need to tell me to be careful when Sam's involved?_

* * *

So... who thinks the boys might run into some trouble in the woods? ;-)

What do you think? Good? Bad? Please review!


	7. Things which Cannot Be

**Disclaimer: **Don't own the boys – although I _wish _I did.

Thanks to Cheryl for her invaluable assistance!

Many thanks to Klutzygirl33, The Eleventh Marauder, angeleyenc, Katy M VT, Vanessa Sgroi, supercharmed89, zenatjuhh, jensengirl4eva, criminallycharmed, Justbec, Mrs Winchester, RiverofWind, SandyDee84, TLC, BranchSuper, fanotheboyz, cookjar, Twinchester Angel, MysteryMadchen, rose tinted lilies and December-Apples for the reviews!

* * *

**Chapter VII: Things which Cannot Be**

Dean kept one eye on Sam as he drove.

His brother was riding shotgun. Dean had insisted on the seatbelt, despite Sam's mutterings about how they _never_ used seatbelts.

"Technically I shouldn't even be letting you in the front seat," Dean pointed out. "You need a car seat at the very least."

"_Dean!_"

"So… seatbelt."

Dean had been grateful he'd insisted on that when a passing patrol car stopped them on their way out of town. Dean had cursed softly – he had just been going twenty over the limit, that shouldn't even count as speeding, damn it! – and pulled over, hoping the guy wouldn't want to open the trunk and Sam wouldn't have an attack. He thought it would be all right: Sam was half asleep, and as long as nobody raised their voice and no shots were fired, it should stay that way.

He rolled down the window.

"Officer?"

"Going a little fast there, weren't you, son? What's the hurry?"

"I –"

The officer bent to see inside. "You really shouldn't have a kid that young up front with you."

"I know," Dean said, putting on his best ingratiating smile. "But he hates riding in the back alone. He's very good, though, never gets in my way when I'm driving."

"Is he OK? He looks kind of sick."

"Just recovering from the flu. He gets a little tired out still. That's why I let him sit up here. I want to be able to keep an eye on him."

"I suppose that's why you were speeding, too."

Dean opened his mouth, trying to think of something, but fortunately Sam chose that moment to open his eyes and blink blearily at Dean.

"Sammy?" Dean asked. "You OK, there, kiddo?"

Sam, still not really awake, looked from Dean to the police officer. Nothing changed in his expression, but Dean saw the tiny flicker in his eyes, too tiny for anyone else to notice, that said that no matter what state his body was in, Sam's brain was up and running.

"Look," the officer said with a sigh, "put your son in the back and we won't say any more about it."

Sam stared at the officer, eyes widening, lips twisting into a pout, looking as though he might start crying any minute. Dean had to choke down a laugh: Sam was _good_. He himself was about ready to give Sam anything he wanted to take that expression off his face, and he _knew _it was fake.

The officer groaned and shook his head. "Why does this happen to me? I'm not out to hurt you, kid… Fine, just – just _go_. Don't have any accidents."

Dean thanked him, waiting till he was out of earshot to tell Sam, "Next time I complain about the eyes, you sock me one, OK?"

Sam gave him a tiny smile before curling up against the door and shutting his eyes again.

Dean drove till they reached a deserted stretch of road where they'd often stopped before, for beer or to stretch their legs, on their way to and from Bobby's. He pulled onto the shoulder, got out, and went around to the passenger side to open the door, undo the seatbelt, and help Sam out.

A dirt path led from the road to a small clearing in the trees. Dean carried Sam to the clearing and put him down in the middle of it.

"Stay where I can see you," he warned, and settled down at the edge of the clearing with his back to one of the trees to watch Sam.

Normally Sam would have been using the time to pace, needing to stretch his freakishly long legs after being cramped up in the Impala. Now he seemed a little drowsy and uncoordinated, although glad for the fresh air, as he wandered around the clearing. Dean let him be: he could see Sam; it was a small clearing so he could get to him in a few seconds if there was a problem; and the ground was soft dirt so Sam wouldn't really hurt himself even if he tripped.

The winter air was cold. Dean shivered, huddling into his jacket and feeling very grateful to Bobby for remembering to get a couple of small hoodies for Sam.

The winter air was _too _cold.

Dean was instantly alert. "Sam, come here."

He scrambled to his feet and met Sam halfway, snatching him up and holding him close with one arm, pulling out his shotgun with his other hand. He felt the unnatural chill again and he knew he'd been right – they weren't alone.

"_Dean?_" Sam whispered. His body was four but his mind wasn't: he knew what the cold meant as well as Dean did.

"I've got you," was all Dean said.

_Damn it! _Just their luck for some supernatural fugly to show up _now_, when he'd finally managed to get Sam out of the house for a bit and Sam had actually gone a whole hour awake – well, _kind of _awake – without memories or screaming. He should've known it couldn't last.

A twig snapped behind him and Dean whirled, squeezing off a shot.

There was nothing but the echo of laughter in the air.

"_Damn it_," Dean hissed.

"Dean, put me down."

"Don't be an idiot."

"You can't do this, Dean! You can't hunt with a four-year-old. Just put me down and deal with whatever it is and I'll wait till you're done."

"Not happening, Sammy."

"But –"

"_Sammy._"

Sam sighed, sounding like he thought Dean was an idiot – which was _rich_, coming from him. But he settled down and stopped arguing.

Then the noise came again – closer.

Dean spun, looking for the source. Before he could find it, something slammed into the back of his head and he went down into darkness, losing his grip on both the gun and Sam.

* * *

Sam managed to roll out of the way just in time to keep Dean from falling on him. He scrambled to his feet and ran to his brother.

"Dean!" He shook him. No response. "_Dean!_"

Sam couldn't turn Dean over to check him, he was too damn _heavy_ and for some reason his hands and arms simply _refused_ to work the way they normally did. He did manage to check his brother's pulse, which was steady, so Dean was probably all right and not concussed and would wake up in a couple of minutes.

Meanwhile, though, there was something in the clearing with them. Sam could sense it like a whisper on the wind.

_Sammy._

Oh, brilliant. A spirit that knew his name. That was –

Dean was picked up and thrown into a tree. Sam couldn't keep himself from yelling as his brother collapsed bonelessly to the ground.

_Sammy._

Crap. _Crap._ The thing, whatever it was, was after _him_, and it was using Dean to get to him.

Sam backed away, considering his options. He could go for the shotgun Dean had dropped, but it would be no good against something he couldn't even _see_, and with the unconnected way his hands were working now he'd probably wind up hitting Dean. So, no. Time for Plan B.

Get the thing the hell away from his brother.

Sam bolted from the clearing.

He knew without looking that the thing was following him. He could hear its voice in his head.

_Sammy. Mine._

It sounded like it was ahead of him and behind him at the same time.

Bloody Winchester luck! If he could just keep it from getting him for a few minutes, long enough for Dean to come round and come find him, he'd be OK. Dean would kill him, of course, but other than that he'd be OK.

A tree root poking out of the ground caught his unsuspecting foot. Sam went down hard.

He was on his feet again right away, running, but by the time he'd taken two steps he was lifted into the air.

Sam swallowed, waiting to be slammed into a tree trunk the way Dean had been, but it didn't happen. He just hung there in midair, the _thing_ holding him by his collar, while the wind whistled through the trees.

Where was Dean? Surely he should have been on his feet again by now? Unless being thrown into the tree did more damage.

Sam swallowed, feeling sick.

_Dean's not coming, Sammy. Dean can't save you from me._

Something about the voice in his ear was Hell and fire and the rack, and suddenly memories were overwhelming Sam again, even as he struggled desperately against the grip on his collar and the pictures and sounds pouring into his head he knew he was losing both battles because –

"_You're weak, Sam. Pathetic. Just my luck that I got stuck with you."_

_Dean's hand on his arm, rubbing it gently, rubbing feeling back into it after hours of being naked in the numbing cold, and Dean's hand is gentle and familiar but his voice isn't._

_Actually it is._

_If it weren't familiar it would be OK because then Sam could tell himself that it wasn't Dean, but it is familiar and it's speaking the words Sam has always imagined his brother would speak if he weren't forced to silence by the job their father shoved on his shoulders when he was a child and Sam was a baby._

_Dean seems to know what he's thinking._

"_Yeah, I know. I never asked for the job, Sam. Never wanted it. I mean, watching after a pain-in-the-ass like you? Why the hell would I choose that?" And now the hand on his arm is pressing down like it's trying to snap his bones. "See, that's the thing. Dad chose it for me, but I'm un-choosing it now."_

"_Dean," he whimpers._

"Dean isn't going to save you."

Sam cringed, a feeling of despair coming over him because normally when the voices in his head told him Dean despised and hated him, the voices _outside _promised him Dean was proud of him and needed him and was right there and was going to stay there until Sam was feeling better.

"_I'll let you choose, Sam. The knife or the rack. What's it going to be?"_

"_Dean, please."_

"_Good God, you're begging. You really are pitiful. I can't believe you're even my brother… You know, you're not. You can't be. There's just no way."_

"_Dean –"_

"_Demon-spawn. That's what you are."_

_The knife came down, white hot pain erupted in his chest, and Sam screamed._

* * *

Dean jerked awake.

He knew right away that he couldn't have been out for very long – a few minutes, tops – but he could tell that things had already gone horribly wrong.

Sam was nowhere to be seen.

Dean got to his feet unsteadily, cursing his own weakness and stupidity. He had to be a freaking hero and insist that he was going to take Sam on a drive. He should've known something would come after them. When had they ever managed to do anything without something coming after them?

He spotted his shotgun lying on the ground in the middle of the clearing and picked it up.

How was he going to find his brother now?

Then he heard it – a high, agonized scream that was _too_ familiar from hours of holding Sam through the pain and the tears, and for the first time he was relieved to hear it. It meant Sam was alive.

"SAMMY!" Dean gripped the shotgun tighter and ran in the direction of the sound. "Sammy, hold on! I'm coming!"

"_Dean!_"

That was Sam's voice again, and whether Sam was lost in his own head begging Dean not to hurt him or having a moment of lucidity and begging Dean to save him, Dean couldn't tell. It didn't matter. Sammy was in trouble and Sammy was yelling for him and he was going to find whatever had taken Sammy and subject it to a slow and excruciating death.

"_Dean, please! Dean!_"

The voice was weaker this time, and coming from farther away. Dean ran harder. "Sammy! Sammy, hold on! I'm coming to get you!"

"_DEAN!_"

And then there was silence.

"Sam!" Dean yelled, as loudly as he could while running all out. "SAMMY!"

No response.

"_Damn it_," he growled, making for the place the last cry had come from.

He raced through the trees, shoving aside any branches and bushes that were stupid enough to get in his way, leaping over rocks and fallen trees, until –

Sulphur.

It was so strong it was almost choking him. Dean turned in a hopeless circle.

"Sammy! SAM!"

Then he saw one tiny, bloody handprint on the nearest tree trunk.

"Oh, _God_."

* * *

So – who took Sammy? ;-)

What did you think? Good? Bad? Please review!


	8. Phantoms Grim and Tall

**Disclaimer: **If I owned the boys… Well. ;-) Unfortunately, I don't.

Thanks to Klutzygirl33, The Eleventh Marauder, fanotheboyz, December-Apples, Menthol Pixie, TLC, Katy M VT, OutTonightAndForever, Kitrukia, cookjar, Kailene, Animefouryou, criminally charmed, MysteryMadchen, Twinchester Angel, BranchSuper, Mrs Winchester, supercharmed89, angeleyenc, sai518, moonlessnight93, TL Arens, Lucian32, Aislynnrose2010, rose tinted lies, SandyDee84, zenatjuhh and the one unnamed reviewer. You guys are awesome!

Many thanks to Cheryl for the help with this.

* * *

**Chapter VIII: Phantoms Grim and Tall**

"Here's the boy. As promised."

The first thing Sam heard when _fire_ and _pain_ receded was a strange voice. It made his gut clench, because, although at some level he'd known everything was wrong, he'd been hoping that feeling was just a result of the memories and when it ended there'd be strong arms around him and a voice whispering comfort in his ear and he'd smell leather and sweat and gunpowder and _Dean_.

Then another voice, the voice of the stranger who'd invaded Bobby's house that morning – was it only that morning? It felt like a million years ago – said, "I told you not to hurt him."

This time Sam could put a name to the voice: _Samuel_.

"Collateral damage," the first voice said. "I tried not to, but he was kicking and screaming. It was his own fault, trying to take my knife and use it on me. It's not serious, anyway, just a scratch." Sam felt himself being passed to somebody's hands, probably Samuel's – they had that uncaringly competent touch he'd noticed earlier. "So I can go now?"

Exhausted as he was, the question made something click in Sam's brain, as did the short phrase his grandfather spoke in what he had a vague idea was Sumerian.

Samuel was binding demons to do his bidding.

_Stupid_, was the first thought that came into Sam's head. _Stupid stupid stupid._

Making deals with demons was bad enough, but using ancient Mesopotamian spells that nobody even really understood anymore to force demons into slavery? That was as dumb as it got. Sam didn't know much about how that worked, but he knew the demons had to hate it and they'd be looking for anything, any loophole in the spell, that would let them break it and likely as not kill Samuel.

"I really didn't want to do this, Sam," he heard Samuel tell him.

Sam managed to tilt his head back enough to look at the man. "You're an idiot," he managed to say, although he was so tired that he was slurring the words. "Dean's going to come for me."

"Dean's not going to have any idea where to find you. You can make this easy on all of us, Sam. Just tell me what I need to know, I'll take you back to your brother, and we can part as friends. Nobody needs to get hurt."

Sam huffed a disbelieving laugh. "You… took _me_. No way… you're getting… _Dean_… to part as… _friends_."

"Dean will understand."

Sam shrugged, not bothering to answer. There was no point arguing, and in any case he didn't want to prolong the discussion in case his fear showed.

Sam didn't doubt that Dean _would_ come for him – he knew his brother wouldn't rest until he'd found him – but Samuel was a good hunter, a lot more experienced than Dean, and if he decided that he didn't want to be found… Sam suppressed a shiver, hoping Dean would get to him before it was too late.

"I don't want to hurt you, Sam," Samuel said, as though reading his mind. "I just want my daughter back. Is that so hard to understand?"

"It's _wrong_."

"And Dean making that deal to bring you back?"

"That was stupid… Think we've proved that." With a huge effort, Sam managed to get himself coherent enough to go on. "But it's done, one way or another it's _over_. We need to stop now."

"She was your _mother_."

"I know."

"And she died trying to save _you_."

Sam felt his throat burning. "I know."

"And instead of doing everything you can to help her you're giving me lectures about how I shouldn't be doing this?"

"_I don't know_," Sam ground out. "I don't know how to help her. I don't know if Michael ever told me anything. If he did, I don't remember. And even if I did, I wouldn't tell you."

"Oh, you'll tell me," Samuel said, and Sam felt a chill run down his spine.

* * *

"And you have no idea what it was?" Bobby asked.

Dean had run back and forth through the woods, yelling with increasing desperation for Sam, before he'd realized that it wasn't getting him anywhere. That was when he'd called Bobby. The older hunter had told him to get back to the Impala and wait there until he came.

Bobby had driven up half an hour later, having broken every speed limit to get there.

"There was sulphur," Dean said. "But no black smoke, no physical form. If it was a demon, I couldn't see it."

"Tell me again what happened."

Dean sighed. "I had Sam and I had my gun and I was looking for it – it kept making noises behind me but it was always gone before I could turn. Then it hit me on the head and knocked me out. I woke up and Sammy was gone."

He felt his eyes burning and turned away. Sammy had trusted him. Sammy had agreed to let Cas take down the wall because he'd thought Dean would be there for him. He'd let Dean decide whether to go with Gabriel's idea. When the freaking whatever-it-was had shown up in the clearing he'd run straight for Dean, trusting his big brother to keep him safe.

And Sammy had been taken.

On Dean's watch.

_Again._

Dean felt fury building.

"CAS!" he yelled. "Cas, get your ass down here now!" Nothing. "CASTIEL! Sam's missing and I need help finding him. Where the hell are you?" After several seconds' silence, Dean tried, "Gabriel! We've run into trouble and we need some help."

Still nothing.

"Bloody _angels_," Dean growled.

"That's polite."

Dean spun. Gabriel was standing behind him.

"Where's Cas?" Dean asked.

"The President of the Angelic Host? The last I heard, he was trying to get through the barrier from Hell into Purgatory. He's having some trouble. It's not nearly as easy as he thinks it is. There's no point calling for him. He won't hear you. The noises of Hell tend to drown out any prayers that come from _here_."

"Wait, you _knew_ about that? Why the hell didn't you _tell _Cas? It would have saved us a lot of trouble!"

"He didn't ask me. I think he's still under the impression that I'm dead. Besides, it was best this way. That wall in Sam's head was a stupid idea."

"And _this _is better? He's a mess."

"Give it time. He'll be fine, or at least coherent most of the time, and you won't have to walk on eggshells for fear of saying the wrong thing and making cracks in the wall… In any case, you didn't call me for _this_ discussion. What do you want?"

"Sam's missing."

"Oh! Careless, aren't you?"

"Can you find him?"

"No. I didn't turn back time, I just altered Sam's body a little… But I didn't take the marks off his ribs. I can't find him. Anyway, even if I could, what do you have a brain for?"

"Well, can you tell us _anything_?"

"I can tell you a lot of things –"

"About how to find Sam!"

Gabriel looked around, a slight frown creasing his face.

"Fine. I'll see what I can tell from the residual – _oh!_" The archangel actually look started. "How incredibly stupid. I thought your race had learnt better by now, but apparently not."

"Gabriel?"

"There's been a demon here – a bound demon. Do you know what that is?"

"I'm guessing you're going to tell me."

"You really are woefully ignorant, even for a mortal. In a lot of ancient civilizations – Mesopotamia and Egypt, especially – mortals learnt to bind demons to their will. It was very complex and dangerous and it frequently ended in disaster. Most civilizations that vanished for reasons unknown owed their demise to a priest trying to get too clever."

"Wait, _bind _a demon? You mean –"

"Force it to do what you want, like a slave. But demons don't like being slaves, so if you try something like that they'll look for every opportunity to thwart you and kill you. Eventually they tend to succeed."

"So you think one of those bound demon things took Sam?"

"I suspect so. But if it was a bound demon, it was acting on orders from a human."

* * *

Sam looked from his grandfather to Gwen. He'd been taken into a building – it wasn't Samuel's usual place; Sam couldn't tell where they were. They'd strapped him to a chair – or they'd _tried _to. For the first time Sam was _glad_ to be so short because they hadn't been able to get his hands up to the ends of the chair arms, so Samuel had tied his hands behind his back and strapped him down at the waist.

It wasn't much of an improvement, of course, but it gave him a _little_ wiggle room. Sam would take anything he could get.

"No, OK?" he said. "_No._ I don't remember, and you _need _to _stop trying_. It's stupid and it's dangerous – and what you're doing with these demons is dangerous."

"_You're_ telling me dealing with demons is dangerous?" Samuel asked.

"_Yes!_" Sam snapped. "I've made mistakes. There's no need for you to make bigger ones."

"You have no idea what I'm doing."

"Yes, I do. I'm not an idiot. What you're doing is dangerous. Even back when people actually understood how the spells worked, it was dangerous. People who tried to make demons their slaves usually ended up messily dead. You know better than this!"

"I want my daughter," Samuel said. "If this is what I have to do to get her, I'll do it."

"I understand."

"Do you?"

"Believe me, I do. But this is not the way to do it."

"Why not?"

"Well, for one thing, Dean's going to kill you when he gets here."

"Dean is not going to find us. I don't want to have to force an answer out of you, Sam, but if you push me, I will. Just tell me and make this easier for all of us."

"Come on, Sam," Gwen urged. "I'm sure you want your mother back, too."

Sam sighed. He and Dean had done the good cop/bad cop routine enough times that he'd been expecting it.

"Look, I don't know what he's told you," he told Gwen, "but this is _wrong_. You're right, she's my mother, and I never knew her, and I want her back. And I'm still saying it's a stupid idea. Doesn't that tell you _anything_?"

Gwen hesitated. "Samuel, maybe –"

"Don't listen to him," Samuel growled. "With Sam, you can't be sure if he's even human. We're going to get Mary back."

"Don't you ever pay _attention_?" Sam yelled in frustration. "We've done this, OK? Dean and me, we've done this, and it's never led to anything good. Mom's at peace and Mom's happy, and if you bring her back it's going to be to a miserable life! I don't know what will go wrong, but I can promise you that _something_ will go wrong. You have to stop trying." Samuel just scowled at him, and Sam sagged back in despair. "Fine. But I'm not helping you."

"Sam, don't make me do something we'll both regret."

"You're going to try to torture an answer out of me?" Sam asked wearily. "Knock yourself out."

"If you insist."

"Samuel!" Gwen protested. "You said you were just going to threaten him."

"Yes, but that doesn't seem to be working."

"You can't – he's a _child_."

"No. He's twenty-eight." Samuel's eyes were cold. "Or… Exactly how many years _did _you spend in Hell, Sam? Don't let the body fool you, Gwen. Whatever Sam is right now, he is _not _a child."

"But – no, he's still your grandson."

"If he's human."

"But still –"

"Trust me, Gwen. Don't waste your sympathy on Sam. He doesn't deserve it. I don't know why he doesn't want Mary back, but I'm sure it's not to preserve the natural order of the universe. Sam's already disrupted it more times and more thoroughly than anybody else. Besides, he doesn't believe in just _accepting_ things he doesn't like… Do you, Sam?"

"Samuel, please. I _know_ how tempting it is –"

"_Do you?_"

"But it's _stupid_."

Samuel shrugged. "I'll take my chances."

He spoke again, something too soft for Sam to hear. The air next to him shimmered and coalesced into a young woman with gleaming black eyes.

"He's yours," Samuel said. "Just… Leave him alive. I don't think Mary would like it if he died."

"You _think_?" Sam growled. "Samuel, please, just let me go before this goes ten ways to hell."

"Samuel," Gwen tried. "Really… I'm sure there's an easier way."

Samuel ignored both of them.

"I will need to call a couple of… friends… to help me," the demon said.

Samuel nodded. "You know the rules. They don't try to kill me or any human being, they don't do anything other than the job, and they disappear when they're done. Come on, Gwen."

He left. Gwen, with one last, dissatisfied glance at Sam, followed him out.

Left alone with Sam, the demon smiled and crouched down to his level. Sam tried not to react, but he had a very bad feeling that if Dean didn't find him soon, it was going to be too late.

"Just you and me, Sam," the demon said seductively. "I hope you're ready for this."

* * *

Poor Sammy. He's in trouble. And big brother is very far away.

What did you think? Good? Bad? Evil? Please review! ;-)


	9. My Soul Is Dark

**Disclaimer: **Don't own the boys. Or anything, really.

Many thanks to Cheryl for the help with this.

Thanks to Chelsea Winchester, The Eleventh Marauder, supercharmed89, fanotheboyz, jessca, RiverofWind, MiniWheatxx, OutTonightAndForever, Cookie, ktcullen17, Menthol Pixie, Twinchester Angel, angeleyenc, SandyDee84, BranchSuper, TLC, December-Apples, MysteryMadchen, tsebehtsiellivllams and Aislynnrose2010 for the reviews.

**Author's Note:** I _did _promise limp Sam in this fic, so… Just as a warning, there's Sam whump in this chapter. Nothing particularly graphic, especially considering that this is _Supernatural_, but still. Just in case.

* * *

**Chapter IX: My Soul Is Dark**

Sam was tied down to a table, arms stretched out on either side of him and wrists and ankles tied to the table's legs so he couldn't move. He'd tried to get himself free, but the demon knew what it was doing and there was no slack in the ropes.

The demon was back, with a set of surgical knives. Sam forced himself not to look at them.

Suddenly he felt the memories pushing at his mind again. For once he felt grateful that they were there: _anything_ that distracted him for his present predicament had to be a good thing. He didn't try to stop them. When they flooded his brain with _fire _and _torture_ and _cold_, he let himself sink unresisting into them, allowing the remembered pain to block out what was happening.

* * *

"If it's humans who took him… _who_?" Bobby asked as he stumped out of the tree line and went to his truck.

Dean ran a hand through his hair. "I don't… I don't know, Bobby. Could be anyone. We've made enough enemies. Hell, it could be hunters who still blame Sam for letting Lucifer out."

"Somehow I don't think we'll have to look that far out."

"What, you think… Samuel?"

Bobby shrugged. "You've been thinking the same thing." He gestured at the trees. "We've been through every _inch_ of that thing, Dean, and there's not a clue other than the sulphur. There's not been a human being in there other than you and Sam. I don't know about you, but I seriously doubt other hunters would know how to bind demons or would try even if they did. You need to be a whole new level of desperate to do things like that – and your granddaddy's the best hunter of them all. He knows the kinds of things that nobody else does."

"We have to find him."

"You have any idea where he's going to be?"

"No. But I know where we can start looking."

* * *

"_The world's better off without you, Sammy. I'm better off without you."_

Sam felt his hoodie being cut off.

_Fire and pain and Dean laughing as he screamed._

The shirt went next.

_Not even using the knife any more, Dean just going at him with his bare hands –_

"I _know_ Michael told you how you could bring your mother back, Sam. Now you may or may not be telling the truth about not remembering. If you are, what I'm about to do will make you remember. If you're not, then you're about to learn a lesson about lying."

Sam shut his eyes.

Breathe. Breathe. It can't be worse than what Michael and Lucifer did. Just breathe through it.

_Dean's hands around his throat, choking the life out of him –_

And he was pulled abruptly, painfully back as the demon clenched its fist above his head.

Sam didn't know what it was doing, but whatever it was, it was making him feel like his bones were on fire, like his _lungs_ were on fire, he couldn't breathe or move or _think_.

Michael and Lucifer had done worse – he knew that, dimly – but that was a memory and this was _happening_, and it took all he had not to scream. His pride was all he had left and he was _not _going to give it that satisfaction.

"You remember, Sam? You remember _her_?"

And suddenly his mother was there, standing next to the demon, an insubstantial form of mist and shadow.

"_Sammy_," she breathed.

"No," Sam gasped. "No, you're not real. You're not – _real_."

The demon tightened its fist, and there was blood in Sam's mouth. He tried to spit it at the demon but he didn't have the strength and he only succeeded in making himself choke.

"_Don't you want me back, Sammy? I want to come back. I want to come back to you and Dean._"

"Don't you want her back?"

Sam squeezed his eyes shut. The pain intensified until he thought he was going to pass out from it, and then –

It stopped.

The voices were gone. The only sound in the room now was Sam's own harsh breathing.

He opened his eyes.

His mother was burning on the ceiling.

"No," Sam whispered. "Please… _please_. Stop."

"But it's real, Sam," the demon's voice came in his ear. "It happened. I can't make it stop. _You _can. You know how to bring her back."

"_No._"

"Yes. He told you, didn't he? Michael told you. He told you how to bring her back, and he laughed at you because he thought you would never be able to do it, he thought you were going to be in the Cage forever."

"_NO!_"

But suddenly Sam was falling back into his memories and –

_And this time it's not Dean, it's Michael. Here, in the Cage, he doesn't need a vessel: he can appear in any form he pleases without one. This time he looks like the Renaissance paintings of him, all steel armour and androgynous beauty. He has a lance held loosely in his right hand._

_Sam almost laughs at the incongruity of it. _

"_Hello, Sam." He drops to a crouch in front of Sam, jabbing the tip of his lance through Sam's leg. Sam just manages not to make a sound. "I'm sorry, did that hurt? _This_ was what I meant to do."_

_He pulls the lance out and thrusts again, into Sam's stomach this time. Sam groans._

"_What do you want?"_

"_I've come to tell you something that you will find useful… something that you _would _find useful if you had any hope of leaving this place, that is."_

"Yes, you're remembering, aren't you, Sam? And once you remember, you're going to tell me."

"_It's simple enough, really. An old, old resurrection spell. To begin with, you have to summon Sin." Sam's not really listening, but a sharp pain in his ribs makes him look at Michael. "Pay _attention_, Sam. You have to summon Sin – it's just like summoning any other angel."_

_Sin is an angel?_

"_A fallen angel, like my dear brother," Michael says, as though reading his thoughts. "You have to summon Sin and make a bargain with… I suppose to you Sin would appear in female form. You have to make a bargain with her. You – how does one put it – you challenge her to a game of… of something. I don't think it matters. She loves gambling. She won't turn you down. What you have to do then, little Sammy, is win."_

_Sam understands. "Nobody wins," he rasps. "That's the catch, isn't it? No matter what game you choose, it's impossible to win."_

"_Nobody wins fairly. Sometimes people have tried to cheat. Very, very rarely, they have succeeded."_

"_What happens then?"_

"_Sin doesn't call them on it. Why bother? They suffer enough without that. Anyway, if you manage to win through trickery, Sin will bring one person back from the dead for you – but in exchange, you have to give her the living person closest to your heart." Michael leans forward to murmur in his ear, and Sam can feel the angel's breath on his cheek. "Would you do it, Sam? Would you give up big brother to get your mother back?"_

"_Go to hell," Sam spits. Then, smiling, "Sorry, I forgot. You're already there."_

_Michael's hand is on his head. "I see you've still got some spirit. Here's another question for you, Sam. Do you think big brother would give _you_ up to get his mother back?" His voice becomes a confidential whisper. "I rather think, you know, that he would."_

_Sam's world explodes in pain._

* * *

Samuel had left guards, of course, but it wasn't going to do him any good. There were no guards who were capable of standing in Dean's way when Sam's safety was involved. It was past midnight: it had taken them hours to get there even with both of them ignoring speed limits and cop cars that attempted to stop them. If Samuel had his baby brother – and Dean was pretty sure he did – there was no time to lose. There could only be one reason for the old man to take him, and Dean was _not _going to sit around following speed limits while Sammy was being tortured for answers to questions that should never even have been asked.

Bobby drove around to the back, to throw things into an unguarded stretch of the electrified fence and hopefully cause enough of a diversion to draw the guards away. Dean waited near the front, ready to sneak in as soon as the guards were gone.

As Dean watched, there was a hissing sound and a strong burning smell. A second later, the building went dark.

Dean grinned. Bobby had not only caused a diversion, he'd managed to overload the grid in the process.

The guards ran for the source of the disturbance, flashlights on. A second later, Dean ran into the building. With the power out, all the alarms were inactive, so there was nothing to alert anyone to his presence as he picked his way through the locks to Samuel's study.

Dean didn't turn on his flashlight until he'd reached Samuel's study. Then he flicked it on and began riffling through the papers on the desk, looking for a letter, a map, a picture, _anything_ that would give a hint of where the son of a bitch had Sam. There was nothing. He found a lot of other junk, including what looked like several pages torn from an old book – a codex, probably; Sam would've known for sure. They weren't in any language Dean knew, but the illustrations accompanying the text made it clear what they were: instructions for how to summon and bind demons.

At least now they knew for sure that it was Samuel.

Dean's mouth twisted with distaste as he shoved the papers aside and kept looking.

"Can I help you?"

Dean stopped short and looked up. Gwen Campbell was there, holding a gun pointed straight at him.

Dean sighed. He _so _didn't have time for this.

"Where's Sam?"

She blinked. "What, he's not with you?"

"Do you _see _him with me?"

"I've not seen him since we came to Bobby's yesterday – or the day before that, I guess, now."

Dean _almost_ believed her, but there was a sudden shadow in her eyes and he _knew_ she was lying.

She knew where Sam was.

"Where's Sam?" Dean repeated.

"I… I don't –"

"Yes, you do." Gwen looked uncertain, and he pressed his advantage. "Come on. You know what Samuel's doing – you know what he's _trying_. It's wrong. It needs to stop." She frowned, as though she'd heard that before. "Sam told you the same thing, didn't he? You've seen Sam. He has Sam. Look… Whatever you've been told, we are not the bad guys here. What Samuel's doing is stupid and dangerous and _wrong_."

The frown deepened. "Maybe, but…"

Dean forced himself not to shout at her. Shouting wouldn't help, she might shoot him, and then who was going to rescue Sammy?

_What would Sammy do?_

"He's going to try to force Sam to talk, isn't he? He's going to torture a _child_ for information."

"Samuel's desperate."

"That's his _grandson_."

She sighed. "You're right. I don't like it. It was bad enough when it was just getting Alphas for Crowley, but he's going too far. He's obsessed."

"Please. Just tell me where he has Sammy."

"Fine. I'll help you." She paused. "And when you find Sam, tell him I'm sorry."

* * *

"How do we get her?"

"Go to hell."

A bucket of water was dumped over him, cold enough to make every cut and bruise sting. It was followed by the feeling of cold steel on his abdomen.

"What did Michael say?"

"Go to hell."

The steel pressed down just a tiny bit. Sam tasted blood.

"You're trying my patience, Sam."

"_Get away from him!_"

Sam turned towards the new voice, heart leaping. That had been –

"_Dean_," he whispered painfully.

Green eyes turned to him.

"Hey, Sammy. I told you I'd come for you." Dean turned back to the demon, waving the gun he was holding – the Colt. "_You_ get away from him."

The demon was gone. Sam felt a vague sense of unease – it couldn't be _that _easy – but then Dean was sitting on the table next to him, Colt tucked into his jeans, his hand resting lightly on Sam's forehead. "You OK, kiddo?"

Sam nodded. Now that Dean was here, he was fine.

"What did he want?"

"Wanted to know… Mom… How to bring… Mom… back."

"Thought you didn't know that."

"Remember now."

"Oh… How, Sam?"

Sam frowned. There was something wrong with the way Dean had asked that question. He looked up into his brother's eyes, trying to read them, but all he saw was quiet sympathy. "Dean?"

"How?"

"Aren't you… going to…" Sam tugged lightly at the ropes holding his wrists down.

Dean put his hand over Sam's to still the movement. "Sure I am, Sammy, but we need to talk first. How do we bring Mom back?"

"Dean, _no_." There was a flash of movement and a sudden, piercing pain in his shoulder. "Dean," Sam whimpered. "Dean, what are you –?"

"Answer me, Sam."

"Dean –"

"Answer me or I will _make _you."

In that instant Sam knew. "You're – not – _Dean_," he hissed, looking at the face above him.

"Of course I am." Dean raised his right hand, holding a knife with blood on the edge of the blade. Sam's blood. "We've got all the time in the world, baby brother, and I am _good _at this."

* * *

Yup, definitely evil. But if it helps, I promise the _real _Dean's going to find Sammy soon, now that Gwen's told him where to look.

What did you think? Good? Bad? Please review!


	10. A Child that Has Cried All Night

**Disclaimer: **Nobody called me overnight to offer me the boys, so…

Many thanks to Cheryl for helping me with this!

Thanks to Katy M VT, TheScarlettRaven, angeleyenc, RivikaStyx, anonymous, crazybeagle, MY Siberian Husky is MY Angel, fanotheboyz, SandyDee84, supercharmed89, Kubi-Beutlin, Mrs Winchester, OutTonightAndForever, Jessica, TLC, The Eleventh Marauder, ChelseaWinchester, Menthol Pixie, PenguinLova0720, RiverofWind, cold kagome, cookjar, babyreaper, ktcullen17, BranchSuper, TinTin11, Twinchester Angel, MysteryMadchen, Sparkiebunny, Rhian Evelscire and teal-lover for the reviews!

* * *

**Chapter X: A Child that Has Cried All Night**

"Where's Sam?"

Dean yelled in shock, nearly ran the Impala onto the shoulder, and pulled over, turning to glare at the angel who had materialized into the back seat.

"Warning, Cas!" he barked. "What the hell do you want, anyway?"

"I need help. Where's Sam?"

"_Where's Sam?_ What do you mean where's Sam? I tried to get hold of you hours ago and you show up _now_ and want to know where Sam is? He's missing! And if you'd shown up when I called you, you would know that! Grandpa Creepy's got him and is doing God knows what to him to try to get him to spill about how to bring people back – so if you're here for us to track down the Turin Shroud or some other artefact you guys lost track of, wrong place, wrong time."

"I'm here to talk to Sam."

"Sam's missing."

"I'll help you find him."

"Whoa." Dean started the car again, glancing at Cas in the rear-view mirror. "You're volunteering to help find Sam? You want to tell me what's going on here?"

"Dean, do you think… Do you think we made Sam a little unhappy in the year after… Lucifer?"

"It's possible," Dean said, pushing the idea away because he really couldn't afford to lose focus until he had Sammy back and safe. "Why?"

"I spoke to Michael."

"You were in the Cage?"

"No, but I could hear him and Lucifer from where I was trying to get past the barrier. It's on the other side of the Cage, like Sam said. Michael told me Sam had difficulties because he couldn't forgive himself for everything that happened."

"Sounds like Sam," Dean muttered. "I've been meaning to talk to him about it, but first he was Robocop and now… Well, it's been complicated. I'll get to it."

"Umm… Michael also said I should express his gratitude to you."

"What's he got to thank me for?"

"I'm not sure you want to hear this, Dean."

"_Cas._"

"He said that if Sam had… er… if he'd held out any hope of you forgiving him, he might have found a way to forgive himself, but since he didn't… Of course he might have been lying, Dean. He probably was lying."

"Like hell he was," Dean muttered. "When Sam gets back to normal, first thing I'm going to do is beat this crap out of him."

"I have to talk to Sam. And to you, but… with Sam."

"Then let's get Sam."

* * *

Sam was conscious.

Of _course _he was bloody conscious. They _wanted_ him awake, didn't they, so he could answer their damned questions.

He was conscious, and he hurt like –

Well, not like hell. Now that he knew precisely what it meant to hurt like Hell, he could say definitively that the pain he was currently experiencing wasn't it.

But it came _pretty _damn close.

He felt light-headed, and he knew it was blood loss. Probably didn't take much to cause symptoms of blood loss in a four-year-old, if it came to that. Sam found himself wishing they'd just hurry up and kill him before he had the chance to do something stupid…

Like tell them what they wanted to know.

After all, would it really be that bad to have his mother back? Maybe if he told Dean… Dean could do it, like Michael had said, Sam's life for Mary's. It would be a fair trade.

Sam frowned.

There was something wrong with that idea. He had an odd feeling Dean wouldn't go with it. He couldn't imagine _why_, but…

But he was tired. The memories hadn't let up: he'd spent hours going from remembered pain to real pain and back, and in both cases there were knives and blood and Dean laughing at him for being so weak. Sam wasn't even very sure what was real and what wasn't anymore: it was all the same.

"Sammy."

Dean's voice. Was that real? Sam couldn't tell.

"Sammy. Just _tell _me."

Oh. Real, then. The Dean in the memories never asked Sam for information. He wasn't torturing Sam for a _reason_. He was just doing it because he could. The real Dean – _not Dean_, he told himself firmly, it bloody _isn't _Dean – was torturing him because he wanted his mother back.

Sam couldn't blame him.

_Not Dean, you idiot. It – ISN'T – Dean._

Sam thought he might be losing his mind.

Sam wanted Dean. He wanted him the way he had when he'd been a small child and flung himself into his big brother's arms after a nightmare or a scraped knee, wanted him the way he had when Michael and Lucifer had been having their fun with him in the Cage and only the thought of Dean safe and happy had kept him holding on to sanity. He wanted Dean so much that at this point he was even willing to believe that the _thing_ in the room _was _Dean.

The knife came down again. Sam choked back a sob. He couldn't keep the traitorous tears from running down his face, but he could – he _would _– stay quiet.

"Come on, Sammy," Dean's voice said above him, entreating. "You know I hate doing this to you. Just tell me, kiddo. Tell me and we can put an end to this. I'll even give you a pass for a chick-flick moment." The knife was gone, replaced by a gentle hand. "Come on, little brother. We'll bring Mom back. You want that, too. I know you do."

"_You're not Dean._"

There was a sigh, and the hand on his chest became painful, digging into the cuts and making him whimper. "You want to do this the hard way, Sam? Fine. Just don't say I didn't warn you."

* * *

Dean drove past the abandoned farmhouse. A mile from it, he pulled up on the side of the road, hearing Bobby's truck brake behind him. He got out, Cas did that freakish thing where he went from sitting in the Impala to standing outside it without following any of the intermediate steps, and Bobby met them on the gravel shoulder.

Dean didn't bother to get anything out of the trunk. He had the Colt and he had his shotgun, and his bare hands were going to be enough if anything tried to get between him and Sammy.

They ran the mile back to the house in something like two and a half minutes – _freaking Olympic athletes think they're so freaking fast _– and although Bobby was out of breath and muttering about how Sam and Dean were a pair of idjits and next time he was just going to throw both of them to a Wendigo and get the hell out of the way, he was right behind Dean as he snuck into the empty yard. Cas brought up the rear, angelic feet even quieter than the hunters'.

They were at the door when they heard it: a high, tortured yell that was unmistakeably _Sam_.

The sound seemed to snap something inside Dean. Everything faded away except _Sammy Sammy Sammy Sammy _and all he was aware of was the need to close the distance between himself and his baby brother, find whatever was making that awful sound come out of Sammy and _kill it_.

"_Dean, stop it! You can't go in half-cocked like this!_"

"Dean, you're doing your brother no good."

Dean blinked. He was still outside, Bobby hanging onto one arm and Cas holding the other, Sam's screams, increasingly more agonized, filling the air.

"_Listen_, Dean," Bobby said urgently. "He's alive and he's strong enough to shout. That's a _good _thing. Positive sign. Now we can deal with this but we don't know how many of them are in there. If we go in and get outnumbered, they might kill Sam before we can get to him. We need to have a plan."

"I think they have Sam in the back of the house," Cas offered. "That's where the… noise… seems to be coming from."

Dean didn't see how Cas could tell: to _him _the noise seemed to be everywhere, filling his ears and filling his head and _God this is just a tiny taste of what happened to Sam in the Cage_.

Dean went to his knees and threw up.

* * *

"You're trying my patience, Sammy."

"It's _Sam_."

He felt a punch to the jaw, and while it hurt, it was really nothing to what the rest of him was feeling just then. Whatever the thing was, it _knew _what it was doing.

The door opened. Sam turned his head, but he couldn't tell who had come in: his vision had dissolved into a vague blur of colours.

"Get anything?"

_Samuel._

"Nothing," Dean's disgusted voice spat above him.

"Maybe he's telling the truth."

"He isn't," said a third voice. It was familiar, but it took Sam a moment to place it: the demon that had taken him. He'd had no idea it was still in the room. "He remembers – I saw it in his eyes when the memories came back. We just have to find a way to make him talk."

"Sam?" That was Samuel's voice again. He heard footsteps, and a shadow moved in front of his face. "Can you hear me?" Closer, now. "Sam, believe me when I say it gives me no pleasure to do this. I just need my daughter back. You understand, don't you – I will do _anything_ to get Mary back. If you just _tell _me, this can all be over. I'll patch you up and take you back to Singer's house."

"You _stupid_ bastard," Sam got out. "Do you really think it'll be that easy?"

"Do you have any idea how unnerving it is to hear language like that from a four-year-old? This job gets crazier by the day. Why won't it be easy, Sam?"

Sam would have laughed if he hadn't known it would hurt. "Dean's going to be _so _pissed at you."

"He's already threatened to kill me on multiple occasions. It can hardly get worse."

"You don't know Dean."

Samuel ignored him and turned to the _thing_ – not _Dean_ – that had been working him over. "He's said nothing at all?"

"It would be easier if I didn't have to work with your restrictions. I mean, _no permanent damage_? You can't force an answer out of someone who's spent _decades_ under Lucifer's knife without doing some permanent damage." Samuel made a vaguely disapproving noise. "Oh, come _on_. You want your daughter back or not? You _have_ to make sacrifices."

Samuel sighed. "Fine. Do what you have to do."

He got to his feet and left. Sam couldn't help feeling a flicker of terror.

"Hear that, Sammy?" Dean's voice whispered, cold and pitiless. "_That _was the sound of your luck running out."

* * *

The plan was simple. Bobby and Cas were going in the front to grab Samuel and anyone else they could find. While they did that, Dean was going to take advantage of the diversion to go in the back and rescue Sammy.

Then – although he hadn't told Bobby and Cas about _this _part of the plan – he was going salt and burn anything that he found in there that was hurting Sammy or had hurt Sammy or had _thought _about hurting Sammy. _Then _he was going to take Sammy and get somewhere safe and not _move _until Sammy was himself again, if he could ever _be_ himself again after this.

Oh, yeah, and he was going to deal with Samuel.

He was _so _going to deal with Samuel.

Dean gripped the Colt tighter. He tried the back door. It was locked. He hesitated: he didn't want to smash it in and alert whoever was in the house, but he didn't have time to waste picking the lock.

Then Sammy screamed again, and Dean kicked in the door.

* * *

The thud was muffled, but definitely there. Sam felt himself perk up a little with hope: _maybe _it was rescue.

The Dean – not _Dean_ – sitting over him picked up the red-hot iron it had been holding to the inside of Sam's wrist. In a way it was as well that the thing had done that, he thought wearily; it had at least cauterized the deep cuts it had made in the same wrist earlier.

Dean was going to be mad.

"See what it is!" the thing above him snapped. A door opened, closed, and a minute later opened again.

"Nothing outside. Must be – wait, what's that?"

Sam heard raised voices, and then what was distinctly a gunshot.

"Coming from the other side of the house," Dean grunted. "Nothing to do with us. So no reprieve for you, Sammy." There was a brief silence. It seemed to be thinking. "Maybe you don't realize how serious I am, Sammy. My fault. I should have made it clear in the beginning." It forced his hand open, spreading it flat on the table. "You don't really need _all _your fingers, do you, kiddo?"

Sam whimpered: he couldn't stop himself.

A dark shadow was looming over him and a voice in his ear said, "Well, if you don't want me to do it, then _tell _me how to bring Mom back. It can't be that difficult."

Sam gathered the last shreds of his courage. "_Go – to – hell._"

"Fine. Have it your way."

The shadow moved away. Sam felt cold steel on his hand, lightly tracking over his fingers one by one before stopping at the last one.

Sam waited for the pain –

There was a crash and a gunshot, loud enough to deafen him, and the steel was gone and there was shouting and banging and chaos and –

And, somehow, Sam knew he was going to be all right.

* * *

Dean had reached the doorway just in time to hear someone threaten to take Sam's fingers off. He'd run his hands over the door through Sam's snarled defiance, feeling absurdly proud and petrified at the same time, found the weak spot, and smashed through it just in time to note that the _thing _was wearing _his _face before he shot it.

There was something else in the room – _two_ somethings, in fact. They seemed to think that they were going to stand between Dean and his little brother.

Dean didn't know what they were and he didn't particularly care. He had the Colt and he had Ruby's knife and he had his freaking _fists_, and it only took a minute to get rid of the things and he wasn't even breathing hard at the end of it.

"Sammy?"

Dean ran across the room to Sam –

And there, finally, he stopped short. His little brother was a _mess_. He was a mass of bruises and blood, with blackened marks that looked horribly like burns running down his right arm.

_Oh God, Sammy._

Sammy squinted up at him uncertainly. "Dean?"

Dean got to work cutting the ropes holding Sam, because seeing his baby brother spread-eagled on a table to be tortured was his worst nightmare come to awful, burning life. Sam didn't move when Dean had cut him loose, and Dean didn't know if it was because he was in too much pain or because he didn't believe it was over.

For the first time he wished he had Bobby or Cas with him: the _thing_ had been hurting Sam wearing Dean's face, and who knew what the kid saw now?

"Sammy, I'm _sorry_."

There were a hundred things in that. It was _I'm sorry you're hurting _and _I'm sorry you thought I couldn't forgive you _and _I'm sorry they took you on my watch _and _I'm sorry this whole miserable mess ever happened_. Dean wasn't sure he knew exactly what he meant himself.

But Sammy seemed to understand. Sammy always understood.

He cracked a smile – a small one, but still a smile. Then he _finally _moved, hands twitching and lifting to reach for Dean, a terrified child trying to find his place of safety, four-year-old Sammy asking to be picked up. There was willing absolution in his baby brother's outstretched arms, absolution and comfort and an odd kind of reassurance. Dean took them all gladly, sliding his hands under Sam's back as carefully as he could, holding Sam against his chest and feeling Sam's head nestle trustfully on his shoulder.

"You're OK, Sammy," Dean breathed, inexpressibly grateful that it was true. "Nobody's going to hurt you anymore. I've got you."

"_Told_ Samuel you'd come."

Dean felt tears in his eyes, maybe because Sam's voice was a pained whisper, maybe because whatever problems they'd had and whatever freaky-ass crap had been going on in his head, Sam had known that Dean would never let him go.

"I'll always come for you, Sammy," Dean whispered back, heading for the door. "Come on. I'm going to get you patched up."

* * *

There we go. Reunited!

What did you think? Good? Bad? Please review!


	11. As the Gentle Rain from Heaven

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

Thanks to Cheryl for helping me with this.

Many thanks to Klutzygirl33, TLC, RiverofWind, angeleyenc, Justbec, Katy M VT, OutTonightAndForever, SparkieBunny, TinTin11, The Eleventh Marauder, cookjar, criminally charmed, fanotheboyz, cold kagome, SandyDee84, jessca, BranchSuper, supercharmed89, MysteryMadchen, TL Arens, Twinchester Angel, babyreaper, Heather and CeCe Away for the reviews.

* * *

**Chapter XI: As the Gentle Rain from Heaven**

Dean had the hang of it by now: one arm holding Sam, Colt in his free hand. He went through the house to the front of it, because he had a thing or two to say to Samuel.

Bobby and Castiel had him cornered between a broken-down wardrobe and the fireplace. He was looking from one to the other of them with an expression that said he understood things they didn't. Dean's jaw clenched: there was only one thing that needed to be understood here, and that was what the son of a bitch had done to his own _grandson_.

If Dean had been in _any_ doubt about who was to blame, the way Sammy stiffened in his grip got rid of it.

"It's OK," he soothed. "It's OK, Sammy. He's not going to hurt you anymore." He stepped up between Bobby and Cas, facing his – God, it hurt to _think _the word – _grandfather_.

"You want to explain yourself?" Dean asked evenly.

"I don't have to explain anything to you."

"Really? Because you started out by coming to Bobby's house and upsetting Sam, and then you kidnapped him and had him tortured by some supernatural _things_. You want me to _not _kill you, you'd better start talking."

"I want my daughter back. Is that so difficult to understand?"

"Hey, I have an idea. Let's get her back for you. Cas knows how to bring her back. We can bring her back right now, show her what you've done to Sam, and ask her if she thinks you're even human anymore."

"I told them not to kill him."

"What, I'm supposed to be _grateful_ to you for that? You tortured a _child_."

"He's twenty-eight."

"That makes it better? He's your grandson, you sick son of a bitch." Sam was shaking, and Dean didn't have time for this. He cocked the Colt and aimed. "Fine. If that's all you have to say, we're done talking."

"You're going to shoot your grandfather?"

"I'm going to shoot whatever the hell you are."

Dean pulled back the safety, just to hear it click. His finger tightened on the trigger.

And he felt tiny hands tugging at his collar.

Dean sighed. He knew what that meant.

"Don't be an _idiot_, Sam. After what he's done to you? There is no _way _I'm letting him live."

The tugging became more insistent. Dean looked away from Samuel long enough to meet Sam's eyes – and he knew the instant he did that he had lost. It didn't matter what Samuel deserved or didn't deserve. What _Sammy_ needed was to be comforted, not to have to watch his big brother kill his grandfather, no matter how much of a bastard he'd turned out to be.

"Have it your way, kiddo." He tossed Bobby the Colt. "Deal with him."

Then he wrapped his other arm around Sam as well and walked out the front door.

As soon as Dean was outside in the early morning air he realized that Sam was shirtless and shivering. The last thing they needed was pneumonia on top of everything else, so he took off his jacket and wrapped it around Sam ("'Mnot a _puppy_, Dean!").

"You want to let Cas clean you up?" Dean asked.

"No." Sam pulled away a little to look at Dean apologetically. "'_Msorry_, Dean… can't… another angel… I _can't_… not so soon after…"

"After Michael and Lucifer," Dean finished. "I understand, kiddo. Come on, then. We'll get to a motel and I'll patch you up."

Dean took the walk back to the Impala as quickly as he could. Sam's injuries were painful, but they weren't life-threatening _yet_. That might change if he lost too much blood. He didn't dare run and risk jolting Sam too much or, worse, tripping on something and dropping him, but he hurried.

He put Sam down in the front seat long enough to get him a spare blanket out of the trunk. Then he drove hell for leather to the nearest town. Sam, head pillowed on Dean's leg, just about managed to stay half-awake until they pulled into a motel.

There was no way Dean was leaving his brother alone even for the time it took to go in and get them a room, not after what had just happened. He picked Sam up, blanket and all, and carried him into the building.

The woman at the front desk looked at him suspiciously.

"Is that your son? What's wrong with him?"

"He had an accident on the jungle gym. I need a room."

"Do you want a doctor?"

"I need a _room_."

"There's a hospital just a mile down. Maybe you should take him to the emergency room."

"I can handle it," Dean growled. "I _need a room!_"

Evidently the don't-mess-with-me-when-Sammy's-in-trouble tone got through to her, because she jerked her head sharply and said, "Two singles, I'm guessing? Or would you rather have a double?"

"Do I _look _like I give a damn?"

The woman frowned. Dean could tell that he was an inch from having Child Protective Services called on him. He drew several deep breaths and said, as calmly as he could, "I'm sorry. Sammy's scared of hospitals. I'm a surgeon, so whenever he gets hurt – he tends to get into a lot of trouble – I try to fix him up myself when I can. We were on a road trip and we stopped at a playground. _Please. _I don't care what you've got. I need a room."

Sam, proving once again that he was capable of deliberately using the eyes to get his way, turned his head without lifting it from Dean's shoulder and gave the woman the look of entreaty that Dean knew and dreaded.

Two minutes later, Dean was laying Sam gently down. He sent Bobby a text telling him where they were and then opened the first aid kit.

She'd given them two singles, which was good. It meant he could put Sam on one bed, the first aid kit on the other, and kneel in the space between the beds.

"Let's take a look at you, Sammy," Dean murmured.

By the time he'd disentangled Sam from the blanket and the jacket, he felt his fury building again. His baby brother was covered in blood and bruises, and Dean had a feeling there was at least one cracked rib in there too.

"Dean?"

Now that they were alone and safe, Sam wasn't bothering to keep the open pleading from his voice. He was in pain and he wanted his big brother to make it stop.

"Yeah, I know," Dean soothed. "I got it. I'm going to patch you up. You're just going to need a few stitches. Then you'll be fine." He paused. "No whiskey, though, dude."

"_Dean._"

"Don't make this harder, Sammy. I don't care how old your mind is. Your _body _is _four_." Dean gave Sam's hand a light squeeze to take the sting out of his words. "Going to clean you up first, Sammy. The ice machine is in the hall, so we'll wait till Bobby's here to get it and then we can ice the bruises. Let's get the blood off you to begin with, OK? It's freaking me out a bit."

Ten minutes later there was a knock on the door. Dean opened it cautiously.

"Cas?" He opened the door fully and went back to Sam. "You're done, huh? Where's Bobby?"

"Driving. He didn't want me to bring him here. He'll be here soon. Should I…"

"No," Dean said, picking up the basin of water and towel he'd been using to sponge the blood off Sam. "We'll do this the old-fashioned way. 'Sides, is the healing mojo child safe?"

"That's a good question. It should be, but it's true that children's bodies can be more fragile. I've never actually tried it on a child."

"Then you're not starting now," Dean said firmly. Even if Sam had been OK with Cas healing him, he wouldn't have let the angel start experimenting with something he wasn't totally sure wouldn't have unpleasant side effects. "Can you get me some ice?"

Cas picked up an empty basin and went to the bathroom. Dean heard water running. A few seconds later, Cas was back with a basin full of perfectly shaped ice cubes.

"I like doing this," he explained in answer to Dean's raised eyebrow. "It's enjoyable. We used to do it with the oceans. But we got a little carried away once and there was – I think you call it the Ice Age? Michael wouldn't let any of us do it after that."

That got a tiny laugh from Sam. Cas gave him a faint smile.

"How are you, Sam?"

"Peachy," Sam gasped.

"Shut up and save your strength," Dean told him. He wrapped some of the ice in a towel and put it over Sam's jaw. "Hold that there, Cas… OK, kiddo, going to start the stitches now. Going to sting a bit. Stay still."

As though his words were the cue, Sam went rigid, eyes widening in horror that Dean knew all too well.

_Crap._

"Not now," he breathed. "Come on, not _now_. Hasn't he been through _enough_?" Sam started to curl in on himself. Dean put one hand on his shoulder and one on his knee to hold him straight. "Don't do that, Sam. You'll hurt yourself."

"_Dean._"

Dean swallowed thickly, considering his options. If Sam started thrashing…

"Trust me, Sammy?" he asked, bending to murmur in Sam's ear. Sam didn't say anything, but the adoring-baby-brother look he got in response said it all. Dean squeezed Sam's shoulder. "Cas, put him out."

"Are you –"

"_Now_."

As soon as Sam had gone limp, Dean heaved a sigh of relief. It would give Sam some rest from remembering the Cage and it would let him sleep through Dean's ministrations. That was all Dean dared to hope for right then.

Bobby showed up a few minutes later. Between him and Dean they got Sam stitched and bandaged and lying as comfortably as possible on his back. They moved him to the other bed. Dean, after some difficulty, managed to find a position that suited him: sitting next to Sam with his legs up on the bed and one hand splayed over Sam's ribs so that he'd know right away if there was any change in his brother's breathing or heartbeat.

"What'd you do with Samuel?"

"He's been doing some dangerous stuff, trying to get your mom back," Bobby said grimly. "Binding demons looks like being the least of it."

"So did you…"

"No. Let him go."

"You _what_? Bobby, are you crazy?"

"Listen to me, boy –"

"He almost killed Sammy!"

"You going to lower yourself to his level? Let it go, Dean."

"No, you don't understand, Bobby. This is _Sammy_ we're talking about. My brother. That son of a _bitch _tortured _my brother_."

"He's suffering enough for it, Dean. He's not going to be able to bring your mother back, and even if he somehow does, odds are she'll hate him for everything he's done. He's got to sort out whatever screwed-up mess he's gotten himself into with those demons and he's got to live with himself. You have your brother. He's got no one. Let it go." A pause, and then the final shot, "It's what _Sam _would want."

Dean glanced at Sam, peacefully asleep under his hand. Bobby was right. He had more than Samuel ever would.

"Fine," he heard himself say. "But if he comes near Sam again I'll kill him."

"You'll have to be quick to beat me to it."

They didn't talk much after that. Bobby went to get a room for himself. He said he wanted to be able to sleep in peace without being kept up by Dean fussing over Sam, but Dean knew he was doing it to give them some time to themselves and he was grateful for the understanding. Cas, after hanging around purposelessly for a few minutes, disappeared with the promise to return later in the day.

Left alone, Dean settled himself down next to Sam and let the steady thumping of his brother's heart under his fingers lull him to sleep.

* * *

I know a _lot _of people are going to be unhappy that Grandpa didn't come to a premature, messy end, and that _was _what I'd planned for him when I first thought of this fic – but I just couldn't make it work. I absolutely can't visualize a re-souled Sam letting Dean kill their grandfather. So… undeserving though he is, Grandpa Creepy lives to fight another day (and maybe, unless he somehow redeems himself, to have Dean run him through with a poker another day – hold that thought).

What did you think? Good? Bad? Please review!


	12. Beauty Is Truth

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

Many thanks to Cheryl for the help and support.

Thanks to Klutzygirl33, crazybeagle, RiverofWind, MysteryMadchen, cookjar, angeleyenc, TL Arens, Sparkiebunny, TinTin11, CeCe Away, criminally charmed, supercharmed89, The Eleventh Marauder, OutTonightAndForever, justbec, babyreaper, BranchSuper, casammy, Twinchester Angel, SandyDee84, TLC and Mrs Winchester for the reviews!

* * *

**Chapter XII: Beauty Is Truth**

Dean had no idea how they'd wound up like this. If Sam ever brought it up again – _ever_ – there was going to be blood.

Bobby had headed out as soon as he'd woken up, to get home and do some research. They weren't sure exactly what else Samuel had done, set off and let loose in his attempts to free Mary. He'd woken Dean to tell him he was going, Dean had decided that he might as well do some research, too, and by the time Dean had finished brushing his teeth Sam had been awake – and, fortunately, lucid.

There was obviously no point to _Dean_ doing the research when the resident geek was in full possession of his faculties – that, at any rate, was what the _geek_ said, despite the fact that he was still too weak to do things like get out of bed. Or, you know, sit up by himself.

But Sam had insisted, brought out the puppy-dog eyes and somehow… _this _had happened.

'This' was Dean sitting on the bed cradling Sammy in his lap and somehow managing to hold a very heavy book open at the same time for the kid to read. It was ridiculous – the book was almost as heavy as _Sam _was at this point – but it was keeping Sam quiet, keeping his mind off the pain (Dean hadn't dared give him anything stronger than Children's Tylenol) and telling Dean when to turn the page seemed to amuse him. Dean was willing to put up with any amount of ridiculousness for that.

He was mildly annoyed, but not surprised, when Cas appeared in the middle of the room around noon.

"Ever heard of knocking?" Dean asked, more out of habit than because he expected it to have any effect.

"Am I interrupting something?"

"Just geek boy's research." Dean dropped the book on the bedside table. He raised his arm so that Sam could slide under it back onto the bed, but Sam didn't move – although, in fairness, Dean didn't wait very long before he lowered his arm back around his little brother. "Just for this, you do not ever complain about my music again, Sammy."

Sam rolled his eyes and tried to push himself up, snickering softly when Dean scowled and held him firmly down.

Cas was watching them with an expression of bemusement. "Is this some sort of morning ritual?"

"No, this is just a sign of how little brothers can be incredibly annoying and make you want to wring their scrawny necks."

"You're a jerk, Dean," Sam grumbled.

"Bitch." It was pureaccident that Dean's other arm found its way around Sam, too. "So what can we do for you, Cas?"

"I… I have a confession to make."

Dean felt Sam stiffen. He patted his leg – the only uninjured part of him – and looked at Cas expectantly. The angel appeared distinctly uncomfortable. He was shifting his weight from foot to foot, something Dean had _never _seen him do before.

"Cas?"

"I was the one who let Sam out of the panic room."

"What?" Dean asked blankly. "What're you talking about?"

"Before he went to kill Lilith. You put him in the panic room and I let him out."

"You mean when we put him in to detox the first time?"

"Yes."

"Oh." Dean paused, his mind still working its way around that. "You… _You _let Sammy out? You mean you… you opened the door and let him out, that kind of thing?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I had orders."

"_Orders?_"

"I'm sorry, Dean. At the time I thought it had to be done."

"It had to be _done_? You _promised _me that if I helped you, you'd keep Sam out of it! You promised! And then you went and _did _the thing that put him _in _it?"

"Dean –"

"What the hell were you even thinking, Cas?"

"I'm sorry."

"I trusted you! I mean I trusted you so much that I listened to you about _Sam_."

"Dean –"

"Why didn't you tell me this earlier?"

"Because I knew you would react like this. You're not rational when Sam's involved."

"I'm – I'm not rational? You let him out of the panic room. He was _detoxing _and you let him out so he could kill Lilith and start the Apocalypse and _I'm _the irrational one? That's new… Why are you telling us this now anyway?"

Cas hesitated.

Sam shifted in Dean's arms and said, "He wants to get into Purgatory. That's it, isn't it, Cas? You're feeling guilty about your part in it, so you can't get into Purgatory. And you want Dean to tell you it's OK."

"No." Cas turned his eyes on Sam. "I want _you _to tell me it's OK."

Before Sam could say anything, Dean cut in with, "You don't sound surprised, Sammy."

"I knew."

"You _knew_?"

"_Someone _must've opened the door and it wasn't you or Bobby, so I _suspected_. I didn't say anything because… you know… I wasn't sure. Then… well, Michael confirmed it for me. Later."

Dean didn't have to ask what 'later' meant, and the thought made him even angrier. Castiel ignored his vicious glare and sat on the edge of the bed.

"Sam."

The angel stretched out a hand. Sam scooted away, shrinking back against Dean, who tightened his grip protectively. It probably wasn't the best thing to do, what with all the bandages, but he would know if Sam got too uncomfortable and right then they both needed the contact.

"Lay off him, Cas. You're talking to me."

"Dean, you have no idea how much I regret what I did. If I didn't, I wouldn't have had to come here and confess it. I'm sorry."

"Cas –"

"Is it that difficult for you to understand, Dean? Your priority was keeping Sam safe and out of trouble and you took whatever actions you felt were necessary, and some which I think you will agree were regrettable, in order to achieve that. My priority was doing what I thought my father wanted." He hesitated. "If I'd known Sam then as I do now, I might have done something different. Under the circumstances, I did my best."

"Cas, you _dick_ –"

"Dean, let it go," Sam said quietly.

"Sam, he –"

"Yeah, I know. He screwed up. We all did. But it's over and we're all OK – or at least we're all _alive_ – and there's no point fixating on what's done. Let it go."

"_Sam_ –"

Dean sighed. "Fine. But, Cas –"

"Never mess with your brother again. I understand."

Dean nodded, feeling a little drained. Before he could relax, though, he felt Sam jerk in his arms, heard his breath catch, and he knew –

_Crap._

"Dean?" Castiel asked, sounding a little anxious. "What's wrong?"

"Memories," Dean snapped, wishing he could do something other than hold Sam and talk him through it. Nothing made him feel as useless as seeing Sammy in pain and not being able to do anything about it, and that was the sum total of _everything _he'd done since they'd decided to restore his memories. "Shhh, Sammy, I know. I know. I've got you."

Sam turned his face into Dean's shirt. Dean felt him shiver and tried to make himself as solid and comforting a presence as possible.

It was a few minutes before he realized that this time was different.

There was no screaming and no thrashing. Sammy was clutching his shirt in both fists like it was a lifeline, sobbing and shaking and occasionally mumbling Dean's name, but there was no screaming and next to no movement. Maybe it was because Cas was making him uncomfortable, but last night Sam wouldn't have been able to hold back for anything.

"Sammy?" Dean whispered, not daring to hope. "It's OK, Sammy. It's OK. I'm here."

Sam clutched him harder.

"He seems better," Cas said, leaning in to get a look but very carefully not touching Sam.

"Yeah, I think he is," Dean murmured. Cas got to his feet. "What, you're going?"

"I have to get to Purgatory, Dean. It's important."

"Fine." Dean shifted Sam so he could breathe more easily: the kid was crying so hard he was starting to choke. "I'm right here, Sammy. Fine, I get it. And, Cas? Considering the kind of hell Sam's going through for it – hey, hey, calm down, kiddo, I'm here – you'd _better _find it."

Cas disappeared. Left alone, Dean abandoned all pretence and began rocking Sam as he whispered to him.

* * *

"Better now?" Sam nodded, although he didn't try to move. "Good. Let's go see what we can do about lunch. Come on."

Sam didn't protest when Dean put one of his own shirts on him ("Won't chafe the bandages, Sam") and carried him out of the room. Dean figured he was either too tired or hurting too much. Neither option made him happy, but at least the kid wasn't making a fuss.

The same woman was at the front desk. She eyed Dean with deep suspicion.

"He doesn't look good."

"He's cranky – been in a bit of pain this morning. He's feeling better now, though."

"Are you sure you don't want a hospital?"

"Sammy's terrified of them. He'll be fine. I've got him." Dean rested his cheek on the top of Sam's head, just for a moment, just long enough to get the woman's sympathy. "What's the nearest place that delivers?"

The woman scribbled a name and phone number. Dean took them, nodded his thanks, and went to the front door. There was a tree-lined yard outside; he'd been too busy to notice it the previous day.

"Pretty, isn't it, Sam?" Sam made a tiny noise in his throat. Dean laughed. "Dude, I am going to have so much to threaten you with when this is over. Maybe I should tell Gabriel he can just leave you this way. That'll be fun, won't it? What do you think?"

"_Dean._"

"Just think about it, Sam." Dean settled down on the top step, holding Sam securely – _nothing _was getting him on Dean's watch _this _time. "You can still do all the research, because that freak brain of yours seems to be working just fine. You can do the puppy-dog eyes so much better this way that we could get caught putting a bullet in a werewolf and we wouldn't even get _arrested_. _And _if we keep sitting here like this, I'm going to have more phone numbers than I know what to do with. Which reminds me…" He pulled out his cell phone. "What do you want to eat, Sam? You have to be starving by now."

Sam made a face.

"Dude, come on. They didn't give you anything, did they? You need to eat. How about we try you on some soup and Gatorade?"

"_Dean._"

Dean marvelled at how many different inflections Sam could give that one word. Earlier it had been, "Shut up, you jerk!" Now it was, "I'm too tired to try the eyes so please just pretend I did and don't make me eat."

"Soup and Gatorade it is," Dean said, taking out his cell phone and dialling. "We sticking with vegetable?"

Dean placed the order – vegetable soup for Sam and salad for Dean. When he finished, Sam was looking at him disapprovingly.

"What, Sammy?"

"You don't have to do that."

"What?"

"Eat salad."

"Sammy, I know what it's like. I know what the sight of meat can do to you. I don't want you puking your guts out. It'll ruin all the hard work I did putting in those stitches."

"But –"

"Hey, you're the one always telling me about my arteries. You should be happy."

"I'm sorry, Dean."

"Sam, you may be four, but you are getting your ass beaten next time you say that. You don't have anything to be sorry for." Dean waited for Sam's shy smile before he went on, "It's getting better, isn't it? Not as strong."

"Yeah. I still can't stop it, but it doesn't… well, it doesn't feel that real anymore."

"That's an improvement. I knew you could beat this, Sammy."

"Not beaten it yet."

"No, but you'll get there. I'm not saying it'll go away, because I don't think it ever will, but you'll learn to think through it and push it to the back of your mind… I'm sorry, Sam."

"What for?"

"Cas letting you out… Couldn't have happened if I'd stayed with you like I should've done. I left you alone and…"

"I think we've figured out that things don't work out when we split up."

"We need to stop doing it, huh?" Sam's only response was a look that had Dean sighing. "You're not supposed to do it to _me_, Sammy." Sam chuckled, lowering his head. "Hey, Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm proud of you, kiddo. I'm proud of the way you've dealt with everything. You didn't ask for the demon blood or for any of the crap that happened, and you had the roughest deal of any of us, but you're still going. Dad would be proud of you, too." Dropping his voice to a theatrically menacing whisper, he added, "And if you tell _anyone_ I said that, I will kill you."

* * *

Does anyone feel like the last two weeks of the hiatus are about twelve times as agonizing as the first month?

What did you think? Good? Bad? Please review!


	13. Dreams of My Childhood

**Disclaimer: **If I owned the boys, I'd ban all hiatuses. Fifty-two episodes a year.

Thanks to Cheryl for all the help!

Many thanks to crazybeagle, Klutzygirl33, Justbec, OutTonightAndForever, Sparkiebunny, The Eleventh Marauder, TinTin11, BranchSuper, angeleyenc, TLC, SandyDee84, babyreaper, mystik78, casammy, fanotheboyz, TL Arens, cookjar, supercharmed89, Mrs Winchester, Mystery Madchen and RivikaStyx for the reviews!

**Author's Note:** I'm going to be out of town for the next few days – which is _good_, because hopefully travelling will keep me from going crazy from the suspense, but it does mean I mayn't be able to get online too often. I will still try to keep to the posting schedule (only one chapter and the epilogue to go after this – so hopefully one on Sunday or Monday and one on Wednesday or so) but I mayn't be able to get to answering reviews till I'm back. I _do_ appreciate them. ;-)

Oh, and one warning – next to no plot movement in this chapter. This is pure Winchester fluff!

* * *

**Chapter XIII: Dreams of My Childhood**

"There anything you want to do, Sammy?"

Sam looked up from his pancakes.

It had been a week since he'd been taken by Samuel, and he was feeling much better. The first couple of days had been the hardest: he'd been too weak to move, except when Hell had started in his head, too weak to do anything other than lie in bed or sit on Dean's knee and let his big brother take care of him.

They'd stayed at the motel for a few days to give Sam the chance to recover a little before making the drive to Bobby's. Sam had spent most of it dozing in the front seat – and it had felt _good_ to be able to stretch his legs in the car, although he'd never admit that to Dean. At some point the memories had hit again and Dean had pulled over and hugged and rocked him through the tears. Sam had clutched at Dean desperately, burrowing into his arms, until it had ended and he'd fallen into an exhausted, mercifully dreamless sleep, waking up to find himself in his bed at Bobby's with Dean sitting on the covers next to him cleaning his guns.

As his body grew stronger the times when his memories overwhelmed him became more frequent, although they weren't as relentless as they had been in the beginning, but now Sam was managing to hold them off long enough to get to Dean. Dean was never very far: usually he was in the same room, and when he wasn't, he made sure Sam knew where he was.

Now Sam was demolishing a pile of pancakes while Dean watched with an amused smile. And, without warning, asked Sam that question.

"What're you talking about?"

"You know… anything you wanted to do when you were four that you didn't get to do? We can do it now."

Sam, touched more than he wanted to admit, concentrated on his pancakes for a couple of minutes while he thought about it.

"Can we go to the museum?" he asked at last, raising hopeful eyes to Dean's.

Dean laughed. "Should've known you'd want something like that, geek boy… Which one did you have in mind?"

Sam shrugged; it wasn't so much about the _museum_ as it was about going there with his big brother. "There's one in Sioux Falls."

* * *

"Isn't he _adorable_?"

Dean heard the whisper behind him and grinned. He knew they had to be making a picture, walking through the gallery with Sam's small hand in his. Silly as it was, it actually felt good to do something this _normal_. All that would have been needed to make it Winchester-normal was for Sam to start lecturing him about what they were seeing – but Sam, aware that four-year-old children didn't usually know the origins of Native American wood carvings, was keeping his peace. Dean wasn't too upset about that: his brother's monologues were one thing he didn't really miss.

Well… Not much. Remembering that morning before breakfast, Sammy sobbing in his arms like his heart was breaking, Dean had to admit that there were worse things than Sam's lecturing.

He could tell it had been a bad one that morning. Sam had recovered quickly enough when it had been over, sliding off Dean's lap and shooting him an apologetic smile. But there had been something in his eyes, something that, even now, had not quite left them. Dean supposed that with over a hundred and eighty years' worth of torture to choose from, there would always be the possibility that Sam's mind would throw up some new memory more horrific than anything it had earlier, but…

But still. There had been that _look _in Sam's eyes, and Dean had been willing to do _anything _to get rid of it.

Which was why they were now at the museum.

It had been fun so far. There had been no flashbacks and Sam was obviously enjoying himself, which made Dean feel all kinds of awesome. Even though he wasn't holding forth the way he normally might have done, he hadn't been able to resist supplying Dean with the occasional odd bit of lore about something they saw – and Dean had to admit that some of it was interesting.

Just to make the day even more perfect, there were a couple of hot young schoolteachers right behind them with their class, and they'd spent most of the past hour commenting, in what they clearly thought were inaudible whispers, about the sight Sam and Dean made. Dean had a feeling he might just get that date.

They came to a rack of tiny wax and terracotta figures. The top shelf was well above Sam's head: Dean grabbed him under the arms and lifted him to look.

"Well?" Dean asked. "Anything exciting you, geek boy?"

Sam pointed at one of the figures.

"That's fake."

"Yeah?" They all looked the same to Dean. "How can you tell?"

"You see where it's got those little flattened bits on either side?"

"Probably got bumped around a bit."

"Would've chipped the front and back, too, then. That's from where someone's filed it down to hide the seam. Probably took the original and made a cast of it."

Dean grinned. "You want to be curator of a museum when you grow up, Sammy?"

"Shut up."

Dean laughed and lowered Sam to the ground.

"I'm just saying, little dude… You'd be awesome. You already have the geek thing down."

"Watch who you're calling little," Sam growled.

Dean knelt. And grinned at the fact that, even down on his knees, he had a good few inches on Sammy.

"I'm not the one who had to be lifted to see what was in the top rack."

"Just you _wait_. We both know that you're going back to being the shortest of the Winchester men as soon as this is over. How does that feel again, Dean?"

"Keep talking, Sam. I might just tell Gabriel to leave you like this."

"Even if you do, I'll still age _normally_. And I'll still be taller than you in the end."

"Take a while, though, squirt. You didn't hit your growth spurt till you were… what, fifteen? And even then it took a while to get from four foot nothing to Gigantor."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Dean…"

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw one of the teachers eyeing them as though wondering whether to approach. It wasn't that he particularly wanted to flirt with her, and he definitely couldn't go on dates while Sam was like this. But he had to take advantage of Sam's baby cuteness at least once. He wasn't letting this end without getting _some_ blackmail material out of it, and he sure as hell couldn't give Sam grief over the times he'd cried himself out in Dean's arms, so that left…

Dean swept his arms around Sam and stood. Sam squirmed a little. "Dean?"

"Come on, kiddo. Let's go talk to the nice lady."

"_Dean!_"

"Just play along, Sammy. I've got this covered."

Of course he could let Sam walk, but Dean knew from years of experience with a very young Sam that if he held his brother and rubbed his head and back a little, he'd get drowsy, and nothing was more likely to get a girl talking than the sight of Sam blinking sleepily up at her from Dean's arms. More to the point, if Sam was sleepy, he was less likely to get bored and decide to amuse himself by saying something that would drop Dean right in it.

Dean turned his back to the school group, talking nonsense to Sam in low, soothing murmurs as he ran one hand lightly up and down his spine.

"_Dean_," Sam protested. "Not _fair_." But he already sounded more peaceful than he had all day. Dean rubbed his back a little more, until Sam gave in and dropped his head onto Dean's shoulder. The movement was accompanied by a tiny fist in Dean's ribs, and _damn _but Sammy still packed a punch.

"Nice," Dean gasped. "I should just drop you, bitch." The only answer he got was a tired chuckle. For a moment he stood there listening to his brother's breathing even out. Then, "Sammy?"

"Hmmm?"

"Don't fall asleep, OK? I need you a little bit awake for this."

"I hate you."

"I know. Come on, let's go talk to her."

Dean turned and found the woman still watching them. He gave her the most charming smile she could. She took that as an invitation to walk over to him.

"Hi!" she said brightly. "You – you have an adorable son."

"Yeah, he's cute, isn't he?" Dean said, praying that Sam wouldn't decide to interfere.

"What's his name?"

"Sam."

Dean frowned as soon as he'd said it. He'd been intending to say 'Sammy', just to bug his little brother, but 'Sam' had slipped out. On the whole he was glad: since the kid's broody adolescence, Dean and their father had been the only ones from whom he would tolerate 'Sammy', and Dean discovered that he kind of wanted to keep it that way.

"You seem to have a lot of kids of your own," he said lightly to cover his confusion, nodding at the children strung around the room in twos and threes looking at the exhibits.

She laughed. "I love my job. Most of the time. Are you from around here?"

"No, we're from out of state. Sam and I are here visiting my uncle."

"Oh! Are you going to be in town long?"

"Couple of weeks, I guess. Then we'll have to hit the road… I have a job to get back to. And Sammy needs to start kindergarten soon." Dean heard Sam choke at that and patted his head in unspoken contrition.

"Yes, of course." The woman smiled at Sam, genuine friendliness in her face, and Dean found himself watching her approvingly. It had been far too long since Sam had had anyone other than Dean and Bobby look like they cared about him as anything other than a hunter or a Vessel or the Boy King. "Are you looking forward to starting school, Sam?"

Sam nodded, saying nothing. Dean felt a stab of concern – had this been a mistake? Women nearly always got all maternal with Sam and he'd never had any trouble getting chatty.

"Hey, kiddo, you OK?" he asked.

"Maybe he's a little nervous about the idea of school?" the woman suggested. "Children often are."

"Maybe," Dean said, tightening his arms imperceptibly. He felt Sam relax a little. "Nothing to be afraid of, Sammy. Nothing's going to hurt you." His tone said what his words couldn't, and Sam relaxed some more. "That's my boy."

"It would help if you or his mother were to take him there a few times before he actually starts. It'll get him used to – I'm so sorry, did I say something wrong?"

Sam, with a strangled sound, had buried his head in Dean's shoulder and wrapped little arms around his neck.

_Crap. _

_Bloody freaking HELL._

_I should've known something like this would happen._

"No, he's just… it's just…" Dean forced himself to smile at the woman: she'd been trying to be helpful and it wasn't her fault. If anything, it was his. "Sammy's mother died a while ago."

"Oh!" She looked stricken. "Oh, I'm so _sorry_. I didn't realize…"

"Don't worry about it," Dean assured her. "You couldn't have known. OK, kiddo, it's OK. I've got you." He turned, looking for an exit. There was a door to their left, a sign above it saying it led to the garden and museum restaurant. "Ummm… I think I'd better take him out and settle him down. It was great meeting you."

"Of course. I – I'm so sorry."

"Not your fault," Dean said, making for the door. "I really should get him outside, though. I'll see you around."

He knew he hadn't been particularly polite, but right then he could only focus on one thing, and that was Sammy.

"I'm so sorry, Sammy," he said softly as they got out into the fresh air. "I shouldn't have tried that stupid stunt." Sam said nothing. "Sammy? You think you can look at me?" Sam raised his head. He was dry-eyed, but he looked miserable. "What's wrong, Sam?"

"You want her back?"

Dean felt his heart thudding suddenly, impossibly loudly in his chest. He had a feeling that this was going to be one of the most important conversations he'd have with Sam _ever_.

He carried his little brother to a rustic bench set under a tree and sat down. Sam stayed in his lap, even when he loosened his arms.

"Can't do that, Sammy," Dean said gently. "Even if you do know how, we can't do it. She's at peace and we need to accept it and let her go. We need to stop disturbing the natural order, remember?"

"Well, but it won't be that – exactly – I mean – you can trade."

"Trade? What're you talking about?"

"You can trade the living person closest to you for somebody you… you want back. And I shouldn't really be here either. I should've died at Cold Oaks or stayed in the Cage. So the natural order's already disturbed. It might not make much difference if you disturb it with her instead of me."

"I can get Mom back if I trade in the living person closest to me to take her place?" Dean asked, wanting to make sure he'd understood right.

Sam nodded.

"And that would be you. So I can get Mom back by trading you for her, and you're saying it's OK because you being back is disrupting things anyway."

Sam nodded again.

"Are you some kind of idiot, Sam?" Sam stared. "No, really," Dean fumed. "What, you think this was all a game? I moved heaven and earth and worked for demons and did every freaking _thing _I could think of to get you back! I thought we already talked about this."

"But –"

"What was that lecture you gave me after I made the deal? Something about how I had no right to put you through the pain of having me die for you? So now it's OK for you to do that to Mom? Swear to God, Sam, if you weren't so freaking _little _I'd beat the living daylights out of you for this."

"But –"

"_No_, OK? Death was right. We need to stop messing with these things. Mom's at peace. Dad's at peace. I have my brother back, even if his time downstairs seems to have fried his brains. That's all I need."

Sam huffed out a breath. "You _sure_?"

"Look at me, Sam." Sam looked up reluctantly. Dean met his brother's eyes, letting Sam read all the emotion that he would never admit to – except when his little brother needed it. "You still think I'd trade you for _anything_?" Sam flushed, and Dean shook his head. "You're a moron, Sam. I don't want to hear about this again, got that?" Dean waited long enough for Sam's mumbled acknowledgement before he said, "Come on, we've still not seen the south wing."

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What did you think? Good? Bad? Please review!

And – one week to go!


	14. Let the Screaming Echoes Rest

**Disclaimer: **The boys aren't mine. Alas.

Many thanks to Cheryl for the help!

Thanks to Klutzygirl33, ChelseaWinchester, OutTonightAndForever, BranchSuper, fanotheboyz, Justbec, angeleyenc, cookjar, TL Arens, supercharmed89, criminally charmed, The Eleventh Marauder, TLC, babyreaper, Azmaria-chan, Sparkiebunny, lucian32, SandyDee84, TinTin11, Twinchester Angel, TheScarlettRaven and MysteryMadchen for the reviews!

I haven't replied to any reviews yet – I'm really sorry about that, but I don't have much time and it was either delay posting the chapter or delay replying to reviews – and I thought you'd rather have the update. I truly do appreciate every review.

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**Chapter XIV: Let the Screaming Echoes Rest**

It was Day Twelve since getting Sam away from their grandfather, and Dean and Bobby were still buried in research to figure out what the hell else Samuel might have done. Dean would've liked nothing better than to let it go and let someone else deal with it, but the old man _was _their grandfather. More to the point, he and Sam had both felt the weight of having their lives given to them at a terrible price, and neither of them wanted that for Mary Winchester.

Sam helped when he could.

Dean wished he could tell the kid to lay off and relax, but the truth was that he and Bobby wouldn't have gotten nearly as far as they had without him. Sam was the one who could use a name or a place from a scrap of a hunter's journal to track down a five-hundred-year-old Middle Eastern legend. Sam was the one who could _connect _a five-hundred-year-old Middle Eastern legend to a bit of half-remembered gossip Bobby had repeated to them weeks ago.

So, yeah, Sam's _brain _at least looked like it was functioning to full capacity again.

The rest of him? That was another story.

Sam had grown clingier over the last few days. He came running to Dean sooner when he sensed memories of the Cage coming, he held on tighter, he took longer to get off Dean's knee, and he stayed closer when he finally did get off. He couldn't sleep, either, unless Dean sat with him while he dozed off.

Dean knew what the problem was.

After the initial few days, when Sam had gone from screaming through waking nightmares to sobbing quietly into Dean's shirt, there had been no improvement. Sam was fighting as hard as he could, but he _was _only human and the longer he managed to hold them off, the longer they lasted when they finally came. Now Sam was frightened, hurting, and beginning to lose hope.

Dean's heart ached for his brother, but this was one enemy he couldn't take on for Sam. All he could do was make sure Sam knew he was there.

They were sitting together on Bobby's sofa, Sam a little bundle of warmth pressed up against Dean's side. He was quiet, saying nothing, but the occasional hitched breath would make Dean reach out and muss up his hair until he calmed and quietened.

They were both reading. Sam had been complaining that being physically four years old was slowing him down, but Dean couldn't tell the difference: the kid was still getting through Bobby's old Greek and Latin texts faster than anyone else could've done. Dean himself was having a miserable time of it with a book that was (allegedly) in English. For the first ten minutes he'd tried to look up all the obscure terms he found in one of Bobby's other books. Then he'd given up and started asking Sam.

Dean heard a sudden sob from Sam. Without a word, he snapped Sam's laptop and the book shut, shoved them both aside, and reached for his little brother.

* * *

When it was over, Sam lay still and quiet against him, face damp with tears. Dean let him be, knowing he needed time to recover, but he kept one arm wrapped around him so Sam would know he was there.

"Dean?" Sam's voice sounded _tiny_.

"Yeah, Sammy?"

"What if this is _it_?"

Dean didn't need to ask what he was talking about.

"You need to give yourself time, Sam. You're doing really well. You're so much better already. And, dude, usually _I'm _the impatient one."

"I'm sorry, Dean." Sam snuggled up to him. "Not fair that you always have to pick up the pieces."

"There are a lot of things that aren't fair, Sam. It isn't fair that Azazel fed you demon blood when you were a baby. It isn't fair that angels and demons lied to us and screwed with us and made us stop trusting each other. It isn't fair that I had to let my little brother go to Lucifer's Cage to save the world because of some angelic vessel crap that neither of us asked for. But this?" Dean tightened his hold. "This _is _fair, Sammy, because _this_ is where I want to be, even if you're turning my life into one long chick-flick moment. I'm still your big brother, right?"

"_Dean._"

"So? It's my job to pick up the pieces. _My job._ You think I'm going to leave you and let Bobby or someone else muscle in on _my _job?"

"But what if it's always like this?"

"It won't be."

"But what if it _is_? You can't spend your whole life holding me together."

"Can't I? Watch me."

"But, Dean –"

"Sammy, you have got to learn to stop saying 'but' all the time. It's OK. You're here. I've got my little brother back. That's all I want."

"But –"

"_Sam._"

"I'm sorry, am I interrupting something? A moment of brotherly bonding, perhaps?"

Dean looked up, automatically drawing Sam back against his chest. "Gabriel. Nice of you to drop by."

"Don't take that tone with me. And you needn't act like you think I'm out to do your precious little Sammy some form of grievous bodily injury. I was trying to help him, in case you've forgotten."

Dean hesitated and finally nodded. "You're right. He's… well… He _is _better. Thank you."

Gabriel smiled. "See? That wasn't so difficult, was it? Do you have a question, Sam?"

"You did it, didn't you?" Sam asked.

Dean was about to ask what he meant by that, but before he could say anything, Gabriel's smile widened. He looked both amused and satisfied.

"I was wondering how long it would take you to work that out. Yes, Sam. I did it. I hope you understand why."

"Not exactly."

"Someone going to start telling me what's going on here?" Dean demanded.

Sam opened his mouth, but Gabriel cut in with, "Only if you promise not to try to kill me."

"I thought you can't be killed by a human being."

"Yes, well, I wouldn't put it past you to find a way if you decide that… Well. As I said, further information depends on whether you are willing to undertake not to try to do me any kind of damage until you've heard the whole story."

"Fine," Dean said. Then, just in case, he added, "Unless you make a move on Sam."

Gabriel sighed. "Do you _ever _think about anything else? I went to considerable trouble to keep your beloved baby brother safe for you… _Yes_, Dean. I will not make a move, as you so crudely put it, on Sam."

"So tell me."

"Sam?"

Sam tilted his head back to look up at Dean. "When Crowley tried to pull me out, Gabriel was the one who kept him from getting me in one piece. He was there – I don't know how he knew what Crowley was planning, but he did. He wasn't _in _the Cage, but he was close enough to keep Crowley from getting my soul out – and it kind of helped that Michael and Lucifer were trying for the same thing. Crowley wasn't strong enough to beat all three of them."

It took Dean about five seconds to work his way through that. When he had, and before he could say anything, Gabriel interrupted him with, "_Whole story_, Dean, remember?"

"You have something to say that will justify that?" Dean asked incredulously.

"Yes, I do. Why do you think Crowley wanted Sam _specifically _back? There's no shortage of dead hunters, and a lot of them, if you will forgive my brutal honesty, are far more knowledgeable than either of you. Most of them are even in Heaven. It would have been so much easier for Crowley to pull one of them down than to attempt the absurdly difficult task of freeing Sam from the Cage. Did you ever wonder about that, Dean?" Dean shook his head mutely. "I'm sure Sam did. Sam?"

"He wanted to get the demon blood thing going again?" Sam asked quietly. "Didn't he?"

"Very good. Yes, he did. If you'd come out _with_ your soul, he could have done it – all it would have taken was for him to threaten to destroy Big Brother Dean's perfect life. Isn't that right, Sam?"

Sam shivered, fingers finding Dean's jacket. Dean gave him a light squeeze.

"So… what?" Dean asked. "You kept his soul in the Cage so Crowley couldn't force Sam to drink demon blood and use his powers?"

"Finally he gets it. Yes, Dean. I let Crowley take his body. I had a feeling Sam's body might prove not to have any powers without his soul, although I was not certain of that… I _was _certain that without his soul, it would be practically impossible for Crowley to deceive Sam. You're fairly intelligent," he added to Sam. "For a _mortal_. And when your native instincts for truth were unclouded by the mess of emotion that got in the way when you _had _a soul and people attempted to make you live without Dean… Crowley knew better than to try."

"Wait. You're saying that Ruby could play Sam because he had a soul?"

"It's so inconvenient when you care about things, isn't it? But I think we all agree that, all things considered, Sam having a soul is preferable to Sam not having a soul." Dean couldn't tighten his arms any more without strangling Sam, but he tightened them a little anyway. Sam didn't complain. "I was sure you'd figure it out and find a way to get his soul out eventually. I had a pretty good idea that nobody _else _would notice anything wrong – not Samuel Campbell, at any rate, and probably not your friend Bobby Singer. So it would have to be you, and that made it safe."

Sam nodded, but Dean felt a headache coming on.

"Really, Dean!" Gabriel snapped impatiently. "Isn't it obvious? For you to notice enough to know that your brother had a serious problem that went beyond the fallout of Lucifer and Michael playing Torture Sammy Winchester, you would have had to spend a few weeks with him – which would have meant hunting with Sam instead of living the suburban life with the brunette. So messing up big brother's happy home would no longer have been viable leverage."

"_Dude_," Dean gasped, appalled. "What if I hadn't left Lisa to go on the road with Sammy? He would have been in the Cage _forever_."

"Dean," Gabriel said, looking bored, "don't be absurd. Once you found out Sam was alive, it was only a matter of time. If you hadn't had those fever-dreams or whatever they were of something big and hairy coming for the woman and her son, you would have been out the door with Sam the first time he asked you… Anyway, I'm not here to squabble with you about minor technicalities. Are you ready for me to change Sam back?"

"He's still not really over it," Dean said, uncertain.

"Did you expect him to recover from close to two hundred years in Lucifer's Cage, _with _Michael and Lucifer, in just a few days? Of course he's not really over it. But he's better. He's been awake throughout this conversation, I haven't been doing a thing to help him, and at no point has he mistaken me for some spectre of his mind coming to murder him with a mediaeval spear. He is, however, past the point where a child's resilience can help him."

"Cas fixed _me_."

"_You_ just had physical injuries." Gabriel came closer and reached for Sam. Dean was about to object, but Sam didn't seem scared, so he forced himself to stay still while the angel tilted Sam's chin up and looked into his eyes. "He _is _better than I expected, I must confess."

"Can you help him?"

"I thought we'd settled this. _Yes_, I can. _No_, I won't. I can do something silly like that wall Death put in his head, and it will keep him sane for a while, but nothing that anybody _else_ does is ever going to be a permanent solution. Sam needs to find his own peace, and it's no longer the kind of fight a child can win."

"That's why he's not been getting any better."

"There might be hope for you, after all, Dean. If you really want I can give Sam another two weeks, but I don't think it's going to help."

"Sammy?" Dean asked softly. "You ready for this?"

Sam nodded, turning around and reaching up. Dean pulled him close, feeling Sam's rapid breathing.

"It's OK, Sammy," Dean said. "You're going to be fine." He rubbed Sam's back. "And you remember all the things you're _never_ supposed to mention again, right? Because, dude, if you break the rules, remember I have enough stuff to blackmail you with for the rest of your life." Arms still around Sam, Dean looked up at Gabriel. "Fine. Let's do this."

* * *

So now only the epilogue to go! That should be up Thursday-ish.

And less than a week until the second half of S6… Anyone else feeling incredibly nervous around now?

What did you think of the chapter? Good? Bad? Please review!


	15. Epilogue: We Two Fare On Forever

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

Here I thought this would be going up just in time to be something to read in the last few hours of waiting… And now we have another _week_? Hellatus is bad enough, but last-minute extensions of Hellatus are just plain _evil_. Especially now that the latest spoilers are making me want to see it even _more_.

Many thanks to Cheryl for her help with the story!

Thanks to SandyDee84, Klutzygirl33, angeleyenc, BranchSuper, Taeriel, stephaniew, Justbec, crazybeagle, Mrs Winchester, TLC, zenatjuhh, fanotheboyz, CandyCakes, supercharmed89, Sparkiebunny, OutTonightAndForever, TL Arens, The Eleventh Marauder, cookjar, mystik78, TinTin11, Lamarquise, MysteryMadchen, ChelseaWinchester, babyreaper, teal-lover and yenneffer for the reviews! Thanks also to everyone who PM'ed or added the story to alerts or favourites lists!

I just got back and I haven't had time to do much yet, but I'll get to replying to reviews and PMs over the weekend.

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**Epilogue: We Two Fare On Forever**

Dean came to complete wakefulness with a snap. For a second he lay still in the darkness, blinking up at the ceiling, letting his eyes grow accustomed to the dim light and his ears hear –

Sammy.

Dean bit his lip.

It was true that he'd been relieved – _happy_ – to have the Sasquatch back, because adorable as a four-year-old Sammy was, with the lives they led his brother needed to able to defend himself. It was true that as an adult, Sam could and did make more of an effort to fight the memories when they overwhelmed him.

Unfortunately, it was also true that for some reason Sam had decided that now that he was twelve feet tall again, he couldn't go running to Dean every time he started feeling hellfire in his head.

_Stupid idiot._

Dean had tried talking to him, but did that work?

_Does it ever bloody work?_

All he'd achieved was to make himself hoarse while Sam sat there looking up at him with damp eyes and ignoring everything he said. And _damn _it if Sam was going to give him eyes that made him feel like something had ripped out his heart and was twisting it into knots, the least he could bloody do was to let Dean comfort him.

Dean kicked back his covers.

_Stupid, stupid Sammy._

He got out of bed.

_Stupid twenty-eight-year-old Sammy thinking he has to do this alone._

He sat on the edge of his brother's bed.

"_What _have I told you about waking me _up_, Sam?" Sam's only answer was to turn towards Dean and raise those dewy eyes to his. Dean ran a hand over his face. "You want to tell me what's going on in your head?" That made Sam jerk violently, shut his eyes and turn his face into his pillow. Dean scowled. "Fine. But it'll help you if you do."

Sam's shoulders were shaking. Dean laid a hand lightly on his arm.

As though that had been permission, Sam reached for Dean. Dean was ready for it; he pulled his little brother up and into a hug.

"Idiot," he grunted. "Free pass when you're feeling like this. I _told _you that. Dude, you're not just making me _have _chick-flick moments. You're making me _initiate _them. You're lucky it's _you_; I wouldn't be doing this for _anyone_ else." When he realized Sam was sobbing silently, he gentled his voice. "Yeah, OK, I'm here. Nothing's going to hurt you."

"It's cold," Sam said unexpectedly. His tone told Dean he wasn't talking about the weather. Not daring to say anything, almost not daring to breathe, Dean shifted his grip so that Sam's head was resting on his shoulder. "It's always cold in the Cage. Absolute Zero. Makes it… difficult… to think." Dean rubbed Sam's head. "They always – well, not always, but _almost _always – turned into _you _when they wanted to do things to me."

"I kind of got that much, Sammy."

"I didn't know it wasn't you."

Dean felt himself going rigid. Sam noticed as well, and started to pull away, but Dean pulled him back with a wordless snarl.

"You thought I was torturing you?" His voice was soothing when he asked the question: the anger hadn't been directed at Sam.

"That's just it – I _couldn't_ think. They didn't let up long enough for me to think. If I'd thought about it I would've known it couldn't be you. But it never stopped. Not once, not for a second. Sometimes they'd come as themselves and then I knew you were up here and safe. That helped. I think that's why they did it. They didn't want me to actually lose my mind. It would have taken the fun out of it for them. But most of the time…"

"Most of the time it was me."

"It had your face. Wasn't you. I was just hurting too much to think about it. It didn't… _feel_… like you." Sam sighed softly. "Didn't feel like _this_. Safe."

_Safe._

Dean sighed. Sammy was far from safe. There was a world out there that had already proven that it hated Winchesters and wanted to make their lives as miserable as possible. There was civil war in Heaven, probably anarchy in Hell, monsters breaking all the rules and being stranger and deadlier than ever… And then there was Purgatory. Dean didn't know what would happen when they found Purgatory, but he was willing to bet everything he had (except Sammy and the Impala) that it wouldn't be good.

In the meantime, though, he had this.

He was finding himself surprisingly at ease with the immediate situation. It sucked that Sam's memories of the Cage kept trying to overwhelm him, but Sam was fighting them with all he had – and this time he was letting Dean help him.

Somehow a lot of the things that had once seemed so important didn't seem to matter anymore. The angels and their crap and their stupid claims about Sam being evil… so bloody _what_? One thing Dean had learnt was that _good _and _evil_, at least the way the angels saw them, didn't mean a damn thing. Michael had been their embodiment of _good_, the perfect Seraph, the perfect son, and he'd turned out to be the biggest bastard ever created.

And Sam? Sam who'd given himself up to eternal torment to fix the mess they'd _all_ made, Sam who had taken everything they'd thrown at him and _survived_ and saved them all? Sam, who was lying still in Dean's arms as though his big brother's heartbeat was the only thing anchoring him to sanity?

Sam was good – he damn well _was_, and Dean was ready to take up the issue _seriously_ with any angel who tried to tell him otherwise – but again, so bloody _what_? It was true, and it didn't matter.

Sam was _his_.

Dean didn't know about good and evil but he knew _that _and it was the most important thing: Sam was his and he was Sam's, and when it came to the bitter end they would still have each other. He found himself feeling a little sorry for Michael. The self-righteous son of a bitch had no idea what it was to have a little brother. Little brothers were whiny and annoying and they did stupid things and they got in your way, but sometimes…

Sometimes, when you realized or they admitted that all the screw-ups had been because of the blind adoration they had for you, which was really the only constant in their lives…

Sometimes, in the silence of the night when there was no sound but breathing…

Sometimes, when the world was collapsing, all it took was your arms around them to make them feel safe. And if _that _didn't make everything worth it, Dean didn't know what did.

* * *

THE END

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